Cardinal Song
Act One
Singing
Chapter One — Happy New Year
The snow had fallen now onto a beach, and the children brought here today could not figure out which was which. The sand had been bleached white by factors they could not comprehend if they tried, and the snow had been white since it had formed, and would stay white until it melted away, into nothing. They were none-the-wiser. The children shaped balls of it just the same, running up and down the shoreline, throwing dirt and ice alike at each other, and laughing as they were pelted in both, without a care in the world for how the cold bit down on them.
A little girl, no older than five, had joined in on the fun, kicking up powerdry white as she ran, but before she could get too far, a wave had lapped at her boots, and she was startled and fell back. The other children continued running, getting further and further away, their voices echoing quieter each instant, as a woman, her mother, perhaps, picked up the child, and whispered sweet nothings to her that he couldn't quite make out— perhaps a warning not to get too close to the sea?
Quickly, however, another family walked in front, and he had to take a step back.
He gasped in surprise, as he did, his breath forming a frigid cloud of mist. But, he did not make it far before his coat made a noise of fabric against fabric, and he turned his head to see a tall woman that he had bumped into. She glanced down at him, wordlessly. In the dark of the night, he could not see many of her features, save for a pair of ruby earrings which gleamed and shimmered as they dangled on the sides of her face.
He shrunk back, glancing aside.
"I… I'm so-sorry, ma'am."
…
She blinked, but merely walked away into the crowd, without another word. He didn't care to catch the look on her features. What was she thinking?
Regardless, he felt his teeth start to chatter as the cold seeped into his bones, despite the winter coat, and despite the thousands assembled on this beach. Shouldn't this conglomeration of people be able to warm themselves up? Why then, as he huddled his arms in on himself, was he so, so, cold?
He wished he hadn't left his hotel that night. It would be warm there.
…but no, no, he decided to come here. It was his decision to leave, and he'd stick with it.
Not that it wasn't a nice hotel. He hadn't been in any before, for comparison, but the room had been a paradise to him, with giant pillows and soft blankets and walls thick enough to keep out the chill. The windows in the living room of the suite were clear, and took up the whole wall, overlooking the beach. The three of them could see the whole of the shoreline from there, with the thousands upon thousands of tourists in the crowd huddling together, scuddling like the ants on the sidewalk.
He had his hands pressed against it, leaning in wonder, when he heard his dad put on his nice overcoat and head for the door.
"Stay here, buddy," he had told him, "It's too cold out tonight. Keep your mom company while I'm away, alright?"
"Why can't I go too?" he had stood by the elevator shaft, as it ascended up to the penthouse floor. It dinged each level it came up, slowly approaching as he clung to the man, "We came all this way, why can't I see it?"
He had only smiled, crouching down, cupping his face in a gentle embrace.
"Buddy… your mother's sick, y'know? She can't leave the suite. She needs someone to take care of her, alright? You'll be able to see it from here, don't worry."
Another ding. He frowned.
"Then why can't you stay with us?"
For a brief moment, the smile faltered, but just as quickly, as he stood back up, it returned. His dad thought he wouldn't notice. Or, maybe he knew better than that. He would always see, and the man knew that. And he knew that he knew that. The teachers back at school would tell the man all about how much he perceived, about what he picked up on. A detail-oriented young mind, who would always have to see everything. Who always noticed. Who never didn't know.
(Of course, that didn't mean the man had to acknowledge it. And it didn't mean he had to, either.)
(And so, they didn't.)
"I have important work for the display. I'm setting it up! And— I'll make sure it's extra bright for you, back here. You won't miss a thing, I promise."
And he beamed at him, flashing him a grin so bright that it could have been mistaken for the very display he was talking about.
He had wanted to protest, but he bit his tongue. The man's smile— it was too warm. Too hopeful, too pleading. He didn't want to fight. That just wasn't who he was, and he knew that.
But still, he found himself frowning in disappointment, as the elevator dinged one last time, and the doors came open.
"I'll see you after the display, buddy, OK?"
The doors began to close, and the man waved, smiling all the same.
He uttered a response, if barely.
"OK…"
And the silence lingered, afterwards.
By the doors, he stood, and for the life of him, he couldn't quite understand what he was feeling. He bit his lip, huddling himself despite the lack of chill in the hotel suite. And, slowly, he began backing away, back towards the windows, overlooking the shoreline down the hill.
She sat in a rocking chair, a blanket covering her lap, eyes half-lidded, nearly sleeping, but still open, and intently watching as he pressed his hand against the glass again, staring down as the man below left the building, strolling further and further away…
And, like the man, she was smiling.
(They were always smiling, he noticed. Even now.)
"Happy New Year, honey."
…
…slowly, he removed his hand from the glass, staring back to look at her.
She still smiled, a beam that cut through the dark of the room. The lights had been shut down in their suite, as to better see the display from so far away. Yet, he could make her out, the warmth in her voice, the love in that smile. And the weakness in it, the way she slumped down in her chair. She was sick after all, as his dad said.
(But she was always sick.)
(They thought he wouldn't notice it, but he did.)
(He couldn't not see how she slumped like this on the way here, or at home, or how her voice was never more than a whisper. He couldn't not see that she went missing every now and then for no explanation, every time with a new excuse, but wearing the same loose clothing she would when she went to the doctor's. He couldn't not see her coughing, he couldn't not see the red-stained handkerchiefs she clumsily stashed in her purse. He knew.)
(And they knew he knew.)
(And he knew they knew he knew.)
(That didn't mean they had to acknowledge it. And it didn't mean he had to, either.)
"H…" he swallowed, sitting down in the chair across from her, "Happy New Year, mom…"
"Oh, why so glum?"
She leaned forward in her chair, or as far as she comfortably could at the time, resting her chin in her palm. Her intent stare bored into him, and he squirmed slightly in his seat under it, eyes dodging away.
"I… I'm alright, mom…"
She chuckled, slightly, and he gulped as she did, not watching as she leaned back in the chair.
"Oh, honey… you don't have to lie to me. I know you want to go down and see it up close."
He glanced up. The frown was palpable, and regardless of how bright her smile shined, he couldn't seem to wipe it off his face. He tried. He certainly tried. But the disappointment sat still in him, like the ice outside.
Then he glanced away from her again, towards his dad shrinking ever smaller as he walked further and further away…
"It's just…" he bit his lip, again. He tended to do that, he noticed, "We came all this way to see the display. I've never even left the city, and now…"
The frown on his face transformed into a grimace as a mix between a sigh, groan, and perhaps a whine, as undignified as the young boy found it, forced its way through his lips, and he fell back into the chair, staring up at the ceiling.
"We came all this way just to sit in a room!"
For a few moments, he just sat there, looking up at the blank white wall above him, feeling the plush of the cushion press into the back of his head, his breathing uneven. He felt something prick at his eyes— oh, no, he wasn't about to cry, was he? Big boys didn't cry, he couldn't cry…
And yet, as he tried to breathe in deeper and deeper, he found his breaths instead getting shallower and shallower, and he eventually started clutching his head. Big boys didn't cry, they didn't get upset, he couldn't, he wouldn't…
But it… it was just so unfair! All this way— his first time leaving the Capitol, in his life! Going to District Four to see the display, packing bags, driving through the countryside— all of that, just to miss out? It was just so wasteful! What was the point?
He clutched his eyes harder. He felt… he… he…!
Suddenly a faint chuckling came out from the other side of the room. Momentarily, he found himself distracted, and he let go of his face. He sat up, glancing over to his mom, who put a hand over her mouth as he found her laughing— a joyous tone that echoed as bells, chiming throughout the sweet, and yet, mocking him all the same. Her smile hadn't left, and she just kept on doing it…
His eyebrows pointed up as he stood up, staring her down in embarrassment.
"W… what's so funny?"
At this, she promptly calmed down, as if there had been nothing amusing at all, and she just looked at him, the default smile painting her features.
"Honey… of course you can go and see the display up close if you want to. I won't stop you."
His jaw dropped.
…
…
…he shut it again.
(That… didn't make any sense. It didn't. She, she was sick? She couldn't go down to the shoreline, and he had been told to stay with her? Unless she was telling him to go alone— but his dad told him to stay with her! If she was going against his dad, then who could he trust? Her? Him? He couldn't listen to both of them… but he never disobeyed. He was a good son. A big boy. A good kid. And he intended to stay that way.)
(Perhaps.)
(…)
…
(…he came all this way, after all, and he had permission…)
…
(…but…?)
"But what about you, mom?"
…she only smiled in response.
He bit his lip.
Their smiling was something he'd grown far too accustomed to, something he'd learned to interpret over the years, again and again and again. They did it for everything, and at this point, he knew what they meant, even when they were all the same. In fact, he was certain he didn't even need her to tell what she was saying with that expression now. He just knew.
And yet, she said it, regardless.
"Go on, honey. Don't worry about me, OK? I'm fine!"
…
…
…for an instant, a smile broke through his defenses, and he found himself smiling in return.
(But he noticed.)
(She wasn't fine, she was trembling, ever so slightly, despite the warmth in the room. As his smile grew, hers faltered.)
(…)
(…what then?)
(Did she know he knew, this time?)
(Did they have to acknowledge it this time?)
(…)
(…he didn't know.)
"Go go, you're gonna miss it if you don't hurry!"
(…)
(…not this time.)
(Not this time.)
…
…
…
He wasn't excellent with time. It was something he had to work on, certainly. His dad always told him, for his next birthday, he'd be getting a watch, so he would finally figure it out. How long had it been, since he scrambled out the door of the hotel? Since he hastily put on his black winter coat, shuffling through the ice and snow of late December, rushing to the shoreline? He couldn't tell. All he knew was that it wasn't yet midnight. It wasn't January yet—!
…maybe.
After all, the fireworks of the New Year would only come after the clock reached midnight, or so he'd been told. Whatever a firework was, exactly. His dad had told him it was a colorful bomb in the sky! But… he couldn't exactly see the sky, not over the heads of the people crowding the shoreline, sitting in their expensive chairs, draping their intricate blankets onto the sand and snow of District Four, and talking, talking, talking! Ugh! If it was a bomb in the sky, would he even hear it over all this noise?!
"E… excuse me!" He shuffled past another family, trying to get close to the shoreline once again, perhaps to see the fireworks when they came, in however many minutes that might be.
There was much groaning and complaining, as he squeezed past. Past families, past friends. Past vendors selling food, and customers protesting as he shuffled through the line. Past acquaintances drinking and singing songs off-tune. He awkwardly stepped past a lot of angry tourists, and at one point, he stepped onto the playing cards sitting on the blanket of two teenage girls, who shouted profanities at him— which he could decipher with ease, not that he bothered remembering what it was they said.
"S… sorry," he found himself uttering, again, and again, and again, "I'm so sorry, sorry…"
But regardless, he found himself no closer to a good angle, as the people were just too crowded on the shoreline. His teeth chattered, and his boots— which his mom ensured he remembered to wear, just kept on crunching against the sand and snow as he walked by.
And the chattering, chattering, chattering of the tourists…
…
…
…AH!
He clutched his head in his hands, gritting his teeth as he crouched down, staring at the ground.
He was… such an idiot!
(Why couldn't he just listen to his dad and stay in the suite?! Why did he have to make a big deal over coming out to this loud, crowded, impossible-to-see-in shoreline?! He was about to tear his ears off and freeze his brain as the ice blew through the empty holes where they once were! The New Year's Eve Victor's Tour Ceremony… once a year, but quite the hassle, and the mouthful…)
(…maybe…)
He fell to his knees, clutching his face tighter and tighter.
(He should've just… stayed in the hotel—)
"…e're all good to go, Juno. …yes, it's perfect. The boat is set, no rebel sightings."
He let go of his head.
(He noticed.)
"Perfect. Team, start the display…"
(He would always notice.)
Glancing up, he saw, past the faceless crowd, dressed in a black overcoat, a pair of binoculars hanging from his neck, speaking to someone that he couldn't see, but didn't necessarily want to see. Because he was preoccupied looking at the man's face. He was smiling…
He was always smiling.
"Is your end ready? No rebel sightings? Good. The President is counting on a good show this year, and we cannot have any dissenters on the boat."
And now, he did.
"Dad!"
For an instant, the people in the crowd didn't seem to get in the way, and cleared as he ran through them, kicking up sand and snow all the same as he barrelled through. Did they get out of the way out of luck, kindness, or a need to not be steamrolled? It didn't matter. All that did was how he powered through them, and found one shocked, confused man, whose smile was wiped off in bewilderment, and tackled him into a hug.
"OOF!" The man's lungs were crushed as he lept over to grab him.
(Finally, some security in this horrible place…)
For a few moments, there was silence— at least to him. Silence amongst the chattering crowd, which did not stop its incessant blabbering, not even as he latched onto the man. But he wouldn't hear them, or at the least, a hush seemed to fill his mind. A calm, as the familiar presence appeared to reluctantly hug back. Not that he could see. He wasn't looking; his eyes were shut.
…
…
(Eventually, however, it had to end.)
(Moments were temporary, after all.)
The man pulled away from him, and he latched back on, even as he leaned away. His smile had faltered—
(—wait, he… he wouldn't be cross with him, would he?!)
(Oh nonononononononononononononoNONONONONONONONONONONO—)
"B… buddy? What are… I told you to—"
Quickly, he found himself pulling away, standing back with a large, albeit nervous smile plastered on his face. He put his arms behind his back, as wide eyes gazed up at the man, pleading for forgiveness he hadn't even asked for… yet. Maybe. Hopefully he wouldn't need to.
"Mom said it was alright!" he stammered. It wasn't a lie— in fact, it was the complete truth— he just hoped he didn't seem shady about it. Which, he might! He didn't know…
(Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease…)
(…)
…
(. . .)
. . .
(. . .—)
—he only sighed, and began smiling again. He just… couldn't stay angry at him, it appeared. (THANK GOODNESS—)
"I… I suppose you can stay then, since you came all this way, buddy."
…he grinned, and went to hug the man again. This time, however, he was prepared for it, and the man caught him before he was tackled.
But this, however, quickly found itself cut short.
"Obman? Who is this boy?"
The words were curt, with absolutely no inflection whatsoever in them. To his left, and his dad's right, he glanced, and saw… her. A blonde woman, wearing sunglasses and an earpiece and a suit and tie, not smiling, not emoting anything at all…
…w… who on earth was—
"Oh… Juno!" his dad brightened up, and, as if sensing what he was feeling, he squeezed his hand, "There's no need to worry, this is only my son. He was supposed to stay with my wife in the suite, but… I guess she let him out! Happy surprise…"
She glanced over at him, looking down…
(He pressed himself closer into his dad as she did.)
…
…
"…I see."
It was all she said.
(He noticed everything, and yet, this woman's feelings evaded him completely. Nothing… NOTHING was emoted. It was just a statement of fact. Of pure reaction, with no feelings in the words besides cold rationality.)
(He pressed himself even closer…)
(…)
(…—BANG!
!
Quickly, he huddled down, ducking as he let go. What… what was that, what WAS that?! A bomb?! What—
"Buddy, look! There it is!"
He felt the man grab his arm, and suddenly, with wide eyes, he was looking up at the sky, where he was pointing, up, up, up…
…
…
…woah.
Woah!
They all were looking up, all of the thousands and thousands on the shoreline, staring up at the red streaking the sky. Scarlet sparkles, shimmering shines, all from the explosive in the air, raining down above the sea in sublime splendor.
He couldn't tear his eyes off it.
"Initial firework launch successful. Continue the display. Good work."
(Firework…)
(It… it was…)
"Isn't it pretty, buddy?" his dad was whispering to him, but he wasn't looking. He was too transfixed, his mouth agape, his eyes wide open as the man chuckled, "The other Gamemakers and I have been setting this up for weeks…"
(marvelous)
(magnificent)
(miraculous!)
But he found himself unable to articulate that, instead just wonderfully staring, rendered nonverbal by the majesty he found himself witnessing.
He had never seen anything like that in all his life!
…
…slowly, it faded, the wondrous light dimming until it was nothing at all, fading until it was only the blueish night sky he saw again. He found his mouth closed, the jaw dropping show above not there to gawk at anymore.
…was that— was that it?
…
BANG!
Around him, the crowd "ooh-ed!" and "ah-ed!" in unison as more cherry red bombs went off above the lake, and he couldn't stop an amazed grin from forming on his features as once more, the sky was lit up in an incredible festival of color. Only— this time, it wasn't a flurry! It spelled out "TEN" in big bold letters!
He was clapping! He was jumping up and down— he was so enchanted!
"Second firework launched. A few degrees off-center. Redirect the firework cannons to be aiming up more for the third."
"Dad, dad!" he wasn't looking at him, but the energy the explosions gave him just filled him with maddening glee! He had to share it! "Isn't it cool, isn't it, isn't it?!"
The man only laughed more in delight, crouching down to him. For a few instants, this distracted him, removing his attention from the firework as the "TEN" faded like the first firework did. He faced the man. His face was usually plastered with joy, but perhaps not as much as it was now.
"I know, buddy, I know!" His smile was so warm and real that the late December chill thawed from him, and for the first time since he left the hotel, he felt warm. He only grinned back at the man.
POP POP POP POP POP!
The crowd went utterly wild at this next one, and he found himself staring upwards again as the maroon fireworks went off, this time in a flurry of many fireworks at once, creating daytime at near-midnight. He was gasping in sheer awe now, and he had to stop himself from falling backwards when he saw it.
"WOAH!"
"This issue is worsening; the fireworks are going off too close to the crowd. Angle it up."
He clapped in rapid succession, the grin completely locked onto his face, not budging from where it was. As this new flurry died down, he folded his hands, giggling in amazement, in wonder, in…
"Hey, buddy, wanna see something super neat?"
…
…
…
He glanced back, the grin fading, only to be replaced with the intrigued "o" of curiosity. This was especially true as he saw the man take off his binoculars, and hand them to him.
The grin came back as he took them, gasping in joy.
(His dad's binoculars! He could NEVER touch his dad's binoculars, those were like, a big deal! A HUGE deal! His own dad gave those to him! This was so cool, so cool, so, so cool!)
He clutched them, not too hard, not too soft, but perfectly delicately, while, at the same time, grasping it tight, as if it were the most valuable artifact in Panem, in a strange balance of tough and loose that he didn't quite understand himself. All he knew was that his dad was handing them to him, entrusting him with the binoculars, and pointing towards the shoreline!
PAST the shoreline!
To… a… boat?
"Take a look at that ship over there!" his dad told him, and he didn't have to repeat the notion. If he was going to hold his dad's binoculars, he'd do what he asked him to do.
And, he saw…
(Over there, far out to see, across the waves, stood a crew. Dressed in gray, they hustled and bustled across the desk, going in and out and in and out in a quick pattern he couldn't make out from this distance. But… it appeared as if they were… as if they were loading rockets into a cannon, and lighting a fuse… oh! That was how they were shooting off the—!)
BANG!
Above him, another light broke up the sky, and another excited cheer broke through the crowd. He looked up from the binoculars as the red glittered once more, now directly above them, raining down its sparkles!
"They're firing off the rockets from there!"
"Again, I repeat, fire upwards. You're aiming too close to the crowd."
His father grinned…
(But for once, he wasn't looking, instead redirected to the ship, Obman pointing back to take a look, so he wouldn't notice. So he wouldn't see as he glanced back at Juno, who was staring intently at the ship, fingers on her earpiece, not expressing anything at all.)
(No, he wouldn't notice, this time. He didn't need to know this time. There was nothing to be acknowledged. He was here to have a good night, and so, he would.)
As the red died down once more, he adjusted the binoculars, zooming onto the ship, onto the figures on it. Oh, these were great binoculars! He could make out even the expressions of their faces, even from here, even from this distance…
There was a man, an angry man, in a white cap, turning the cannon up. So frustrated, so strange…
There was a woman, with a short ponytail, carrying the rockets practically by her lonesome, loading them in— how impressive! He hoped to be as strong as her, one day.
There was a man, dressed in black, and not the gray of everyone else's uniforms, barking orders, causing everyone to scurry and run from side to side, back and forth. Was he the boss? Did his dad know him? Perhaps— the Gamemakers put this together, after all.
However, what caught his eye the most, instead, wasn't any crew members, Gamemakers, or anything of the sort. Instead, it was an odd fixture, on the head of the ship, away from any cannons. A shiny white throne, with guards in gray on both sides of it, and a woman in a red gown sitting atop it.
(…hm?)
(Who was that?)
She clearly was in a position of power, of prestige and fame. Even without the binoculars, it was clear the attention was meant to go to her, that she was meant to be the main attraction, even with the fireworks in the sky.
(But, who was…?)
He zoomed in further.
Now that he saw her properly, she… her features were younger than he once assumed, the frown he could make out not covered in the wrinkles of age, her downturned eyes still reflecting… uh, youngness. She wasn't a woman, she was… just a girl? Just a teenage girl, sitting on the throne, at the New Year's Eve Victor's Tour Ceremony—
(Oh!)
(Victor's Tour!)
"Hey, dad, it's her, it's the Victor!" he shouted, grinning, putting the binoculars down to see him standing beside him— not crouching.
(Not that he paid it any mind, this time. He was too invested.)
(For once, he wasn't noticing.)
(He didn't even notice that the man wasn't smiling until he called out to him, and that he faltered to get there.)
His dad's smile, bright as ever, even in comparison to the fireworks, even if they were faded, was all he saw as he glanced up, and he quickly went back to the binoculars, quickly went back to looking at the girl on the ship again.
The smile… dropped, soon after.
BANG!
"Call it off," he glanced at Juno, who was practically crushing her earpiece in frustration as she talked into it, "Stop the display, right now, and do not restart it until you fix the cannon."
…
…
…
"…buddy," he turned to the boy, still transfixed by the binoculars, still gazing out to sea, still looking out to the boat, "Buddy, I'm sorry, but could I just take my binoculars back, real quick?"
…
…
…he stood there, unmoving.
His smile had long since fallen from his features, as he stared out through the binoculars.
He just kept on looking through them, not even looking up as the scarlet rain came down onto the snow and sand, sprinkling everyone in colorful dust.
"Buddy?"
"…she's sad."
"…what's that, now?"
…
(He stood, unmoving, staring out to sea, staring at the girl on the throne— no older than sixteen, or so he heard.)
(The girl from District Ten, who had so valiantly won the Hunger Games… why didn't that come across her features? This whole display was in her name, wasn't it? Why wasn't she smiling, like his dad? Like him? Like all of these tourists, who traveled thousands of miles to be in District Four, just to see her on New Year's Eve?)
(She was frowning. It was such a deep frown.)
(Was she crying? He couldn't tell.)
(But now, she buried her face in her hands…)
(…)
(…)
His dad crouched down next to him once more, cocking his head in confusion. Slowly but surely, as the man did this, he removed the binoculars, still looking straight forward, but with a pensive frown.
"Annabella," he said. He didn't redirect his gaze, staring pensively as his dad only stared at him, his confusion only deepening at this, but giving way to…
To…
"Buddy…" his dad started, the word so controlled and precise and slow that he found himself snapping out of his trance, and turning his head to look at him, instead of the girl in red so far away from him. He wasn't smiling. Why wasn't he smiling?
"Did you watch the Hunger Games this year without my permission?"
(…a h .)
(OK, he… he gave it away then, oh no, oh no—)
"U… uh…" he gulped at this, nervously handing the man back his binoculars, nervously looking away, as if to divert his attention with one of these things, which did not work, "Why would you… why would you think that?"
The man sighed, "You know the Victor's name."
He started rubbing his neck, nervously laughing, "Well, uh… it's… all over the news…"
But he didn't buy it. His dad's flat look told him he didn't buy it one bit, and he deflated soon afterwards, looking down to his feet in guilt and shame.
The man only stared, frowning with slight disappointment, but otherwise… staying quiet.
(Please don't be mad, please…)
(He just wanted to see what his cool Gamemaker dad did at his job, and all of the other kids at school got to watch it…)
He sighed, again. Not angrily, at least, as he got up, (holding the binoculars).
(Starting to look out to sea, to whatever was going on on that ship…)
(…)
(…who was that, in the black shirt? That wasn't a regulatory uniform.)
"I told you, Sudba," his dad said. He wasn't looking at him, and he— Sudba— wasn't looking at his dad either, instead looking to the ground in shame, to the sand and snow, turning gray under everyone's feet.
"I told you that you could wait until you were twelve! The Hunger Games is a show for big boys…"
(They were running, and running on the deck of that ship…)
(…)
(…that cannon clearly wasn't functioning properly.)
(Why were they not fixing it?)
(Why were they STILL LOADING—!)
POP POP POP POP POP POP POP POP POP!
Above them, in shimmering red letters, just like with "TEN," the word "ANNABELLA" was spelled out in grand fashion, with screams of delight drowning out every possible sound as the sparkling crimson dust rained down in a strange, concerning intensity. They didn't seem to care how close it was to them, in proximity. They didn't mind at all.
Behind the two of them, Juno tensed up, screaming into her earpiece, but impossible to hear over the uproaring excitement.
"I told you, abort! Abort immediately! We cannot continue the display like this, abort!"
Sudba, beside his dad, kicked the sand and snow, moping, if only slightly.
"But dad," he was staring at the ground, the red entrancing light of the fireworks strangely unappealing now. (Why?) "I am a big b…"
He stopped himself halfway through that sentence, biting his lip, as his dad continued to scrutinize the ship.
(…a real big boy wouldn't ever call himself a "big boy," now would he?)
(And besides, he was eleven! He'd be old enough to watch the next Games, so there was no need to be cross…)
(…)
(…)
(…but, what about…?)
"Don't you see her, dad?"
He wasn't smiling. He was always smiling.
"Abort abort abort!"
He had to have seen the girl then, right? He had to have seen the sorrow stitched onto Annabella Townsend's face? That had to be the reason why he was so sad now, why he suddenly lost that smile…
…
…
"…dad?"
"Abort NOW!"
…
…
(…sweet mercy.)
(He was as zoomed in as he could get. The gray crew members and the white guards were not in their calm, orderly position. Instead, there was a man in a black uniform there as well.)
(And another.)
(And another.)
(And…)
(No.)
(No, that…)
(They checked! They were positively certain! It couldn't be, it just couldn't be!)
He lowered the binoculars, and quickly, he took Sudba by the hand, causing the boy to wince at the sudden pressure.
"Ow! Dad, hey!"
But he didn't pay him any mind, instead just dragging him over to Juno, ignoring every protest he made, ignoring everything he said, because, because—!
"Stop this instant! STOP!"
"JUNO!"
"Obman Sodaniya!" she shouted in response, desperate to be heard above the crowd, the chattering, BLABBERING crowd, who were so loud, so boisterous, that she was barely audible. Immediately, she stood at attention as the fellow Gamemaker ran up to her, lowering her fingers from her earpiece as she stared him in the eye, crossing her arms behind her back.
"Obman, this display is headed for disaster—"
But he cut her off, frantically, quickly, panicked.
And he delivered a line that Sudba remembered, even now.
That, even thirty-so years later, still haunts him.
The line that perhaps, started everything that his life would be, and sent him down the path he was in. Sent him down the path of destruction. Sent him down the Road to Hell.
The beginning and end of Sudba Sodaniya's life happened when he was only eleven years old, on the shoreline of District Four, watching the fireworks, staring at the brokenhearted Victor of Annabella Townsend, then being dragged away by this horrified man.
Five words.
"Rebels have taken the ship."
…
…
…Juno's mouth was agape, and for once, she didn't make any sound at all.
In fact, none of them could make a sound.
None of them could move.
For an instant, they all stood still, and the crowd stood still, and the cheering stopped, and the world fell away. Time did not move for them. Time stood firm, unflinching. It wasn't real anymore. Shock alone had killed it.
Perhaps a part of him forever lives in that moment then.
Time passed, eventually. It had to.
Time passed.
Time always passed.
And in an instant, it passed into a shock even larger than the last.
…!
BANG!
And chaos reigned.
He couldn't feel, not as the firework exploded beside him, not as the bomb threw them all to the left in an illumination of blood-red, the color so blinding he didn't know how he could still see.
He crashed to the side, and the screaming began.
He stared up to the sky, as the screaming and the running and the trampling commenced, ears ringing as sand and snow alike ruffled in his hair, ears ringing as thousands upon thousands upon thousands of people hurried to leave, hurried to get off the shoreline, hurried to get out of sight.
But all he could see now were stars.
…
…had they always shimmered so splendidly?
BANG!
And again, the red caused the sand and snow to transform into a geyser, exploding upwards and falling back down in shimmering rays. Someone was hit. He didn't know who. He couldn't know. He didn't not not know…? No…
…
…
…what was happening…?
His ears were ringing… more… but louder. And his vision was blurring, and he couldn't see that well…
…so much screaming…
…so, so much running…
…
…
…
…he tilted his head back, eyes closing, and the upside-side down view of a shining building in the distance…
…the… the hotel?
Yea, the hotel…
…he'd have to… he'd have to say hi to mom… when… he got back…
…
…
…
…they had saved the biggest firework for last.
And it zipped above him, the wondrous rocket blitzing through the sky, splitting it in two above.
…
…
…
BANG! ! !
The last thing he saw, before his eyes shut, and he fell away to blissful unconsciousness, were the words "HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
Written in a bold red font, as they shattered through the windows of the suite.
Hiya! Welcome to Cardinal Song, my first ever SYOT story— or SYOC in general!
I can't begin to express how excited I am to release this story; it's been months in the making! I'm so excited I'm writing this at one in the morning, just because I can't wait to release it!
Now, as for how submissions work, I'll provide the form at the bottom. As of now, the hard deadline is for Halloween— October 31st— at 11:59 PM, EST. This is a partial, as I don't think I can do 24 whole characters… but I think I'll still take about 16 of them! It's also not first come first served; I'll look at my options on November 1st, and take who I like best. No reservations!
Cardinal Song is not the first work in this 'verse. My other two Hunger Games fics, Thunderclap and Avalanche, both take place in the same world, chronologically prior to this one! However, that is a lot of reading to do for those who are new to this 'verse, so if you don't want to read those, I've included this handy document full of lore on my worldbuilding! docs . google document / d / 1u68sZTI5akCeoXMZnOqx88BBEgRFneY08XI1TWrD9uo / edit ? usp = sharing
Even if you have read up on my stories, which, thank you for that, I recommend you give it a read anyways! Thank you.
I will post an interest list on my profile soon… and afterwards, it's all up to you! You can submit to this SYOT by DMing me on discord— my username is "humanwiki". Without further ado, here's the form!
Basic Information
Name:
Gender and Pronouns:
Age:
District:
Backup Districts:
Appearance:
Detailed Information
Backstory:
Personality:
Strengths (personal, not physical):
Weaknesses (personal, not physical):
Important People:
Reaped, or Volunteered?:
Reaction or Reasoning?:
Optional Information
Faceclaim:
Token:
Fears:
What Else Should I Know About Them?: