Thanks to savwriting, Dante Alighieri1308, Tales From the Cluttered Desk, Tyquavis, ladyqueerfoot, yoyowhitehole, Grim Apocrypha, Skeekiest, CrocodileReader431, Very New To This and maitaitiu for the reviews! Means a lot to see the support and I love hearing your guys opinions on characters.
Apologies for the holdup - I'm finally here with D8! Updates should move a bit quicker from now on (expect D9 pretty soon after this), as I'm raring to get intros out of the way and move into the pre-games phase (after goodbyes and train rides of course, but even those kinda count as pregames).
No further foreword - here's District Eight with Merlino and Ariadne!
"Lino!"
Merlino doesn't hear the chipper voice that calls his name. The thrumming of the machine in front of him doesn't allow him to hear anything else. He'd spent hours already trying to work the thing back to life, and this was sixth go-around of trying to start the damned thing back up. He just couldn't figure out the problem. Sweat and grease stained his forehead and his cheeks, fusing into a sort of oily dark liquid that made it look like Merlino himself was the one spilling out oil.
"Merlino!"
Still, he doesn't hear it. The machine was roaring to life now. Good fucking lord. Finally. He'd been expecting to be home early today, but this job had eaten up more of his schedule than he'd have preferred. Hell, it was already dark outside, the sky an inky black illuminated not by stars, but by white and yellow street lights. District Eight was Panem's very own urban purgatory. Half of the time, you couldn't see the sky. When you could, the stars were drowned out by the strongest center of light pollution in the nation. Fucking miserable.
Merlino is broken from his thoughts as a hand grabs his shoulder, shaking him lightly. He snaps backwards, head whipping around and dark hair slick with the same sweat and oil that stained his face whipping around with it.
"Oh - Spinner. What's up, man?"
Merlino speaks casually, and is only greeted with a perplexed look from Spinner. Right. The machine. Merlino had always mumbled a bit over his words, and often had to repeat himself. The two-ton machine roaring away just feet from the two didn't help, either. As the roaring machine winds down, Merlino clears his throat, eyes darting down to the floor and then back up to Spinner's.
"Uh... what's up?" He repeats himself awkwardly, having to remind himself that Spinner hadn't heard him the first time. It wasn't as embarrassing as it felt, he tells himself. Calm down, Merlino.
"Foreman told me you was' still workin'." Spinner lets out a low whistle as he eyes Merlino up and down. The boy was entirely covered in grease and oil, his mechanic's jumpsuit stained a dark brownish that matched his eyes. "He wasn't lyin', I guess. Hope the check's a' worth it for this one." Spinner folds his arms across his chest.
Merlino chuckles, the sound a bit forced. He was never sure how to handle the carefree, easygoing attitude of Spinner. When they'd met on Merlino's third day at work, he'd attached himself to Merlino like moths attached themselves to mom's old woolen blanket. Merlino could never quite figure out why. He didn't make an effort to speak to Spinner, nor did he actively try to hang out with him. And yet, he was still dragged along - Spinner's own personal burden to carry.
"It will be. Money around Reaping time always helps."
"That it do." Spinner nods, a cheeky grin spreading across his face. "Speakin' a' Reaping time... me an' Karl were gonna head out to a bar. You know, one a' the covert ones that have the PK's on payroll. Spend a bit of our own extra Reaping money. Maybe pick up a few girls. Or guys. Whatever the liquor tells me." Spinner gives himself a hearty laugh, and despite himself Merlino begins to smile. The natural charisma exuding from Spinner would have made him jealous, if he were that type of man. But he was mature enough to respect and appreciate what he could never have. Even when it made his heart heavy with a sense of sadness.
"...I think I'm alright. Mom n' dad will want to see me."
"You sure, Lino? Come on - everyone loves a man with some stubble. You'll be a hit."
Spinner gestures to the rough outline of a beard on Merlino's face. While not fully grown in yet, he'd noticed that he was one of the few around to have as much hair on the face as he did. He shaved daily by this point, and still the stubble grew back by sunset - infuriatingly a few shades darker than the hair atop his head. Even many of his co-workers in their 30s didn't grow their facial hair as quickly as he did.
Merlino gives the most polite expression he can muster, shaking his head.
"Nah.. I haven't showered this off yet. By the time I do, it'll be late and I don't wanna go into tomorrow on a shit night's sleep. Still gotta go get my payment from the Foreman before we close up for the day, too. You and Karl have fun. Give someone a kiss for me."
Merlino hopes his excuses sound more convincing than his thoughts. He wanted to go out - Spinner talked to him at work, but usually that was where the relationship ended. And yet Merlino couldn't bring himself to go further. It was like a barrier had erected itself in his mind, preventing him from taking the choice he wanted.
"...If you say so, man. I won't push it. We'll see ya' tomorrow, then?"
"For sure. Catch you later, Spinner."
Merlino begins to walk past his... acquaintance..? He raises a hand in goodbye, the smile on his face never fully reaching the eyes.
The bar sounded enjoyable. The company sounded nice. And yet...
Merlino shakes his head, clearing the thoughts from his mind. It was too late, he told himself, to make friends like that. He'd always be on the outside at this point in his life.
Yeah. They'd probably have more fun without him there, anyways.
They were having fun? Without her there?
Ariadne's face pinches into a sour frown, her head tilted down towards her desk as she silently eavesdrops on the conversation. A party tonight. At that conniving little bitch Lacie's dorm. Not that it mattered. Anything party that fake, lesser-bred whore threw would be doomed to failure. She knew what she was doing, Ariadne reckoned. Discussing the party right within earshot, but not bothering to invite Ariadne herself. Just like District Filth. Too afraid to stand up to their betters face-to-face, so they resort to cowardice and sneaky talk behind the back.
It suited someone of her ilk. District born and raised. Not like Ariadne - a bona-fide Capitolite, through and through. Sure, she has no memories of the Capitol. She'd been in Eight as long as she could remembers, the smoggy skies and beaten grey buildings the only environment she'd ever known. Sure, her parents both sported modest jobs as some spinner seamstress and grease-monkey mechanic - but they weren't her real parents. They'd probably just kidnapped her.
She could imagine it clear as day - two stunning, beautiful Capitolite parents coming back dressed in silks and frills, shrieking in terror when their precious baby Ariadne was missing. Little did the poor, hapless, innocent pair know that their pride and joy, their little girl was already on the train to Eight, whisked away by some ne'er-do-well couple, sinister grins plastered across their rotten faces.
That's how Ariadne imagined it, anyways. How else would she have such a sense for what looked good? She certainly hadn't picked it up from Naree and Griegery (mom and dad, as they so often asked to be called). Everything about them was plain. Drab. Pitiful. Nothing like Ariadne - so she couldn't have picked it up from them. So, then, they weren't her parents!
They certainly didn't act like it, either. A parent was supposed to support their child - emotionally and financially. They'd done fine on the first front, but the money? Hello? How else was a future superstar designer supposed to carve her way if her parents were fucking cheapskates, scrimping and saving for things like bills and food. There were more important things in life than the necessities.
But, then, it didn't matter anymore. Ariadne had carved her own path anyways. With enough talent - and she had plenty of talent - you could overcome even the largest of walls. She'd remembered the breathless moments, the sleepless nights leading up to the final 16 in the District-wide design competition. Then the semi-finals, where only four remained. Then the grin and the sense of satisfaction that had come with placing first. It was only right, for someone like her. The dress she'd designed had been absolutely stunning. Perhaps they'd use it on this year's Victor, as an homage to her evident skill.
"Ariadne..?"
Ariadne's head snaps upwards, her focus drawn away from the designs in her notebook and her thoughts about life.
The bitch had come to bother her.
"What is it, Lacie?" Ariadne's tone is snippy and cold. She has nothing to discuss with her 'classmate.' Even that term made her sick, because it suggested the two as equals. Ariadne didn't recall Lacie winning first place. She'd dropped out in the top 8.
Lacie glances back towards the group of girls that had been gathered around her desk, who give her a supportive (if not slightly apprehensive) thumbs up.
"I... we're having a party at my dorm tonight. Pre-reaping, and all that. A night of fun. Just in case... you know. I wanted to ask if you were interested... maybe?"
Ariadne relishes in the rockiness of Lacie's tone. After so many attempts to butter her up, shower her with kind words so that Lacie could use her - Ariadne had finally let her know exactly what she felt. She was surprised the little coward was still brave enough to approach her, after the verbal lashing she'd doled out.
Ariadne's frown deepens, and her eyes flicker up and down, giving Lacie the once over. Black hair - dull in color, split ends and uneven texture. Brown eyes - not a pretty hazel nor a mysterious black. Stuck in the middle, like muck on the streets. Light brown skin - blemished. Unclear. Someone hasn't heard of washing her face.
Lacie shrinks back under Ariadne's critical glare, and Ariadne relishes in this, too.
"No thanks." Ariadne decides after a long moment of silence. In one fluid movement, she stands up, slamming her notebook shut and stepping away from her desk - away from Lacie.
"I don't want to catch whatever's floating around in some District bitch's pigsty dorm." Ariadne scoffs. "Seriously, does your little gaggle of airheads cut your hair for you? I don't want to be associated with any of... that. Bye."
Cutting the conversation off abruptly, Ariadne feels a cruel smile slip onto her face. That would show Lacie not to pity her betters. Where did she get off, inviting Ariadne somewhere like she felt bad for her? Ariadne wanted to be alone. To be the shining paragon of Capitol excellence in the masses of District filth.
Right up until someone realizes her worth and sweeps her away to her home. The Capitol.
Merlino hadn't understood just how much was in Eight until it all threatened to be taken away.
Surely there was another Merlino Wilcox out there, right? Someone else. Anyone else that wasn't him.
Moments pass, and that fleeting hope fades away as quickly as it had arrived. Of course it was him. Who else could it be? Merlino wasn't exactly a name that every little boy in the district had.
So this was it, then? This is where his life would come to an end?
Merlino had heard about your life flashing before your eyes when you were at death's door, but... nothing came.
Was that how boring his life had been? His reluctance to live had stripped him of any worthwhile memories to reminisce on when faced with his ultimate demise?
How fucking pathetic was that.
Instead of his life, his memories, it feels as he's become hyper aware of everything around him. Each puff of smog in the sky moves independently, morphing into shapes that he'd never taken notice of before ultimately fading away into the atmosphere.
That one looked like a cat. That one vaguely resembled his foreman. Oh - was that a mouse?
Every cobbled stone on the floor took its own unique features, not a single one escaping Merlino as he trudged silently from the crowd, head hung and lips still parted in shock. That one was a darker gray than the rest in its section. Ooh - that one's sharp. Don't step there, Lino, or you'll trip and fall and might as well just die here if that's the case.
The steps creak and groan with the pressure of Merlino and his humanity. His hopes. His dreams - all attainable. Friends. Stable job. Lover. Each ideal places another weight on his back and he's surprised that the rotting wooden stairs don't fold beneath this great burden upon his shoulders.
Each clogged pore in the Escort's face, the makeup doing nothing to hide it. Graying hairs hidden expertly with dye - but not enough to escape Merlino's gaze now.
The manicured perfection of each nail as the escort reaches into another bowl, his hand sifting deep within, the cutting sound of paper on paper ceasing as one unlucky slip is withdrawn.
"Ariadne Damaris!"
The shriek from the crowd. Odd, he thinks. It sounds less of fear and more of... frustration. Of rage.
The measured, harsh steps of boot upon stone. Merlino looks up, everything moving in slow motion as he does so.
His partner. His district partner. He's never seen anyone like her before. Dyed hair - a rarity, in Eight - blonde until the ends where it cuts to a rich, shiny black. A sour, sneering look on her face, her hand raised as she bats away an approaching Peacekeeper.
"I'm Ariadne, dumbass." She spits. "I don't need your bumbling fucking escort - I've walked the stage plenty."
She passes the pointy bit of cobblestone.
Oh, she's going to fall.
But she doesn't. Walking with a self-assured confidence that Merlino wishes he had, she passes right over the spot on the ground that had, to him, spelled certain failure.
Even ascending the stage is done quickly, powerfully, and gracefully.
He attempts to catch her eye - to give a smile. Anything to try to let her know that he's here. That they can tackle this shitty situation together. But Ariadne doesn't even look his way - not for one second.
"There's been a mistake." Instead, she's immediately upon the escort, hands clasped around the mic and guiding it closer to her own mouth. "I'm not supposed to be up here. I'm not even supposed to be in Eight. I'm not from here, I'm from-"
She shrieks in frustration yet again as the microphone is wrenched away from her, and this time her batting hands are not enough to deter the Peacekeepers that swarm her and forcefully turn her forwards, towards the crowd.
"I'M NOT MEANT FOR THE GAMES!" She shrieks again, thrashing with all her might to no avail. "ARIADNE DAMARIS! I WON THE DESIGN COMPETITION LAST YEAR! IN TWO YEARS, I'LL BE RECRUITED TO DESIGN FOR THE CAPITOL! MY HOME! LET GO OF ME, YOU DISTRICT SHITSTAIN!"
Merlino's eyes widen slightly at the sheer gall of the girl. Capitol? Her? No Capitolite he'd seen had ever given an outburst like that. They also didn't usually live in Eight, of all places, with its stinking factories and hazy skies.
"I assure you, there has been no mistake, Miss Damaris. Your name comes up in the registry, same as all other District Citizens."
"I'M NOT A DISTRICT CITIZEN, YOU DOLT!"
"Restrain her, please." The escort waves flippantly, before turning to the stunned crowd before him.
"Your tributes for the Sixty-Third Annual Hunger Games." He speaks simply, casually, before shaking his head and wandering off. Almost like he can't be bothered to deal with the fallout of sending two children to their deaths.
"Hey... uh.." Merlino starts, and Ariadne (still restrained by multiple Peacekeepers), shoots him a withering look.
"Good luck..? I'll, uh, be here. If you need me. We're both Eight. Birds of a feather, and all."
If looks could kill, Merlino reckoned he'd be a smoking pile of ash on the floor right now.
"I'm nothing like you." She enunciates each word clearly, each word like a stab directly in the heart. "A dirty, unshaven mongrel like you is unfit to even stand on the same STAGE as someone like me. Hear me? You're nothing. I'm everything."
You're nothing.
He'd known that already.
But it still hurt to hear, coming from the person he was supposed to trust with his life.
And that's that! I've got to say - I think this was the LUCKIEST pair of tributes I could have gotten in terms of contrast. One of them isolates himself because he thinks he isn't worth anyone else's time, and the other isolates herself simply because she's just so much better than those around her (note: sarcasm) that she can't stand to be around the filth in Eight.
That being said, they're also the least compatible. Spoiler alert! These two will not get along. More accurately, Ariadne is going to hurl insults at Merlino any time he attempts to extend the olive branch, and he's going to take it because he thinks he deserves it. How tragic. Hopefully someone can help him realize that he IS worth it.
Thoughts on Merlino and Ariadne? Anything in particular you want to say, theorize, or let me know about? Don't hesitate to leave it in a review, if you're feeling up to it!
Until next time,
logangster out.