.
xviii. homecoming
✦ ✧ ✦
the return of a group of people to a place formerly frequented
odette celestine
eighteen / / district one
—
Even if the train journey was on the shorter side, she's relieved that it's over and done with. Odette has become a woman of little patience, and to say it thinned in the presence of Lavish and Helios would be a grand understatement.
But, like a rubber ball, she's bounced back by the time she's strolling through an elegant hallway, complex designs etched into the walls and chandeliers illuminating her every step. It's even nicer than Valhalla, the exact sort of luxury that Odette can get used to.
"You seem to be in better spirits," Florence, her mentor, notes as she walks beside her. "What changed?"
Odette grins, then looks ahead to see that Lavish and Helios have already reached the end of the hall and entered the banquet room. "I don't have to deal with the two of them."
Admittedly, she bears a twinge of resentment toward Florence now. She could've told the boys to knock it off earlier, but she didn't.
"Fair enough," she snickers. "They can certainly be a handful."
That's rich coming from somebody infamous for belonging to the most notorious throuple in Panem, one that ended with her slaughtering one of her boyfriends in the Games and marrying the other, but Odette digresses. She just doesn't understand why anybody would want to take a man for a lover, much less two of them.
When she finally pushes the doors to the banquet hall open, she's nearly overwhelmed. There's an eloquent buffet table at the center of the room with clear statues of Odette and the other seven volunteers that she assumes were forged from ice, and a table with eight chairs that look more like thrones. All of the food looks like it came straight out of a movie — beef wellington with perfectly glazed puff pastry, small bowls with different varieties of caviar, what looks like the legs of a frog but fried in batter, and seared foie gras. None of these are foods Odette has personally tried, but she's always dreamed of doing so, especially the foie gras.
But she can't act too impressed. Otherwise, the people mingling here, her future allies, will think she isn't accustomed to such luxury. So, she turns to Florence and simply tells her, "This is definitely acceptable."
"I'm glad you think so," the mentor responds, then wanders off.
Odette saunters toward the buffet, taking special note at how Lavish's ice sculpture is shorter than all of the others, save for one of the girls from Four. Speaking of, that girl just so happens to be putting some of the caviar on a plate just a few feet away.
"Sabine?" Odette says, reaching over her to grab herself a plate.
"Yeah!" The girl chirps, immediately eager. "You're Odette, right?"
"I'd like to think so, yes."
"Well…" Sabine's voice trails off as she gestures to her own sculpture. "It's certainly ice to meet you."
Odette laughs, even if the joke isn't very funny. It doesn't hurt to play nice this early on. She then points to her statue. "It's ice to meet you too. How was your train ride?"
"Really nice, actually." Sabine shakes her head. "There were a lot of us Fours heading to the Capitol — more than usual — and it was great to get to know everyone."
Aside from the table with the thrones, there are four long tables. One for each district, Odette assumes. The table furthest right in the room is crowded by a loud group of people, most of whom have dark hair. They seem genuinely happy, content with themselves and their lives.
Such a mindset never gets people far in One. Whatever you have is never enough, and even if it takes destroying yourself in the process, you should always want more. The fact her mother doesn't get it is… ugh. Odette can't afford to think of her anymore. It does more harm than good.
"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." Odette puts a few different colored caviar on her plate. "Mine also went well."
"That's great!" Sabine glances at the main table, noticing that Tyrian from Two has just sat down. "Hey, Odette, I'll catch you later, okay? I wanted to talk to Tyrian, if you'd excuse me."
"You're excused," she playfully replies. "I'll see you too!"
It only takes a few steps before Odette runs into someone else. Girmyr from District Two is cutting herself a giant piece of the beef wellington.
"Woah there," Odette gawks. "Are you really going to eat all of that by yourself?"
"Of course I am," Girmyr says. Her voice is higher than what Odette would have expected. Way more cheery as well. "I'm hungry."
"Hi hungry, I'm Odette." She quickly realizes Girmyr doesn't understand the joke based on her blank stare. "I don't actually think your name is hungry. I know it's Girmyr."
"Just Gir," the Two girl corrects. "You know, like the sound that dogs make."
"Oh."
"Why, oh?" Gir's brow nervously twitches.
"I just didn't think you were the type to have a nickname," Odette lies. Really, she doesn't know what this is supposed to say about Gir. She has such a lovely name, Odette was assuming she'd want to be called by it instead of just a crude sound.
Just goes to show the brutes from Two will ultimately have very little on the refined people of One. She should've known this already.
"Well, I do. It's Gir!" She exclaims. "What do you think of the Capitol so far?"
"It's just like One, if I'm being completely honest." What she wants to say is that it's everything that she's ever dreamed of, that she's finally found the place where she belongs and it's absolutely fantastic. But again, that could give things away.
Based on how everyone here presents themselves, Odette has already decided she needs to be the leader of this Pack. She thought maybe Tyrian would challenge her, but he isn't as boisterous as she was expecting a boy from Two to be, at least not yet.
But, when she locks eyes with Adina from across the room, and the Four girl winks at her then bursts into laughter, Odette suddenly feels a rush of competition. It's best she snuffs that out as quickly as she can.
leda gero
eighteen / / district three
—
Vilhem informed them it would be in their best interest to try their hardest to be "polite" to everybody they meet tonight, which Leda did not understand. It makes little sense for them to shape their behavior so they seem like a different person when they will be residing with these people for the next six months. Eventually, the truth will rear its ugly head, not that Leda thinks there is anything "ugly" about who they are as a person.
They are beginning to think their parents disagree, however. Though Leda cares very little about them, they understand a parent is supposed to love their child. An indicator of love would be visiting said child before they went off to the Capitol for six months. However, this morning, Mother and Father told Leda that they would be very busy at work and therefore unable to visit. If Leda were capable of feeling pain, this would hurt.
Alas, they have more important things to think about. Mainly, their future allies as they converse in this gilded chamber. Despite how warm the heater is (though not warm enough to melt the ice sculptures), Leda's never been somewhere that feels so cold.
They care very little about luxuries. They wear the same thing every day because it is what is most comfortable to them. Even if Three is wealthy, that has never been something Leda likes about it. What they do like is that people in Three use their money to learn.
So far, there have been few surprises. Claris is friendly, as per usual, as she converses with Sabine from Four. She was equally friendly to Leda on the train, though their interactions were hardly sentimental. The Twos seem to be enjoying one another's company, thrones close together and smiles on their faces as they speak to Adina and Odette. Leda had a feeling they would get along with one another.
That leaves one remaining volunteer in the room, who Leda admittedly found difficult to read after watching him take the stage. As Lavish Tarro danced through the aisles of One's auditorium in roller-skates, accompanied by a jazz band, all Leda could think was why?
They see him over at the dessert display, stuffing chocolate covered strawberries onto his plate with a tacky, artificial smile. Gingerly, Leda makes their approach, clicking their heels together to get Lavish's attention, then saying to him, "It is rather unusual to eat dessert before dinner."
"Oh yeah?" Immediately offended, not that Leda understands why, Lavish squints "Well, your dad is unusual."
"I do not understand how this has anything to do with my father."
"Because your dad is unusual," Lavish sneers. "Obviously."
"Yes, I concede that may be true." Leda takes a deep breath. "However, the nature of my father is not at all related to the practice of eating dessert before dinner."
"What the hell is your problem?"
"I do not understand what you mean."
"Have you never heard a 'your dad joke?" Lavish's tone is harsh, accusatory, but it only makes Leda want to talk to him more. Already, it seems like he is about to teach them something that they do not already know, which of course, is very rare.
"Obviously not," they hum. "Would you like to explain them to me, or is this interaction a waste of time?"
"You're the one who approached me."
"Well, you were alone." Lavish does not have to know that Leda is not telling the truth. They get the feeling telling him that they were merely studying his behavioral patterns would not go over well. Even if Lavish is yet to completely lash out at them, they reckon he is the volatile type. If he were not, he would not have acted so standoffish when Leda merely asked him a question about his dietary decisions.
This Lavish character is deeply confusing. Leda finds that they somewhat detest him.
"I am going to go eat with the rest of our peers now," they announce, since apparently Lavish has now decided that he does not wish to speak. "You are welcome to join me. In fact, I think you are supposed to."
They saunter over to the table at the far end of the room, not turning around to check whether or not Lavish is following them. His loud footsteps tell Leda everything they need to know. Of course, once they arrive at the table, the two empty thrones are next to each other, so they sit in one and ignore Lavish when he sits beside them. Instead, Leda shifts their attention to the people on their left side, Claris and Sabine.
"Greetings," Leda says, oddly nervous. "Sabine, I do not believe we have met."
"No, I don't think so," the Four girl replies. "Claris told me about you, though."
"What did Claris say?" They ask as if she's not sat between them.
"I said you're a genius," Claris answers instead of Sabine. "Genuinely one of the smartest people Three's ever seen, and a very worthwhile ally to have."
Is that a compliment Leda hears? They dislike it. It sits weird in their mind, dreadfully out of place. "No need for flattery," they tell Claris. "I am sure that we were all chosen to be here for a reason."
"Claris didn't tell me you were so polite!" Sabine enthuses.
"I am not polite," Leda says. "I am honest."
"I don't know," Claris teases, cheeks a warm peachy color. "That almost sounded like you were actually being nice to me."
"I was not," they assure her. "If I were, you would know. Trust me."
But the truth is, Leda does not know what it means to be "nice" to somebody. Is honesty not the kindest thing one can give someone else? There are many things that do not make much sense in this world, and this may be what confuses Leda most. The nature of honesty, and "your father jokes," as Lavish called them.
Whatever. Leda still has so much time to learn.
adina ofek
eighteen / / district four
—
She's so excited to be here, she's finding it shockingly easy to get over her brief moment of embarrassment on the train. Don't get Adina wrong, she isn't thrilled that everyone on the train seemed confused when she mentioned her great family name, but she's willing to not hold a grudge, just this once.
That's mainly because the Capitol is just… beyond even her most wildest dreams. Everything reeks of luxury — from the trim on the walls to the chandeliers and hell, even the utensils she's eating with have diamonds inlaid in them. Adina gets the feeling just this room is worth more than her entire mansion, which is saying a lot.
It's not just the luxury that excites her though — it's all the different people she's met. She's been told that Four is the most "unserious" of the districts that send in volunteers, but she didn't realize to what extent until around an hour ago.
When Adina and Sabine entered the room, they were, of course, all smiles, but they were also very much the exception. Leda and Claris seemed locked-in and stern, carefully analyzing people with calculated glares. Gir and Tyrian talked to their mentors like obedient dogs, though the former did have a bit of a spring in her step. Then there's the Ones — Lavish with his manic, almost-horrifying grin and Odette so composed, so put-together and serious, Adina almost thinks she's faking it.
As the eight of them sit on thrones pushed close to an extravagant table, there's an underlying tension in the air. Like everybody's waiting for somebody to bring up a certain subject. Luckily, Adina has no qualms about doing that herself.
"So," she says, her voice more light and airy than usual. "Who wants to be the leader?" Immediately, two hands shoot up — Tyrian's and Odette's. Adina glares at them both. "Well, so do I, so that's going to be a problem, huh?"
Actually, Adina doesn't just want to be the leader. She has to be. Otherwise, what kind of an Ofek would she be? She was raised to take charge, to never back down in the face of danger — she's perfect for the role. The only one fit for it, in fact.
"It's fine." Tyrian quickly puts down his hand. "I'll leave it to the two ladies."
Gir looks at him, puppy-eyes wide with admiration. Odette, on the other hand, is less than amused. "Good," she drawls, her lips forming a smile. "I'm sure you're not bad, but men are objectively vermin. We couldn't have one lead us."
"I'm sorry?" Tyrian sheepishly shrugs.
It sends Gir into a small fit of laughter. "C'mon, Tyrian's one of the good ones."
"What about me?" Lavish interjects. "Gir, do you think I'm one of the good ones?"
"What about me?" Odette mimics, mocking his exact tone and holding out one hand with a limp then turns back to Adina, her expression hardening. Whatever game they're about to play has just begun. "Okay, Adina. How do you want to settle this?"
Oh, she can think of plenty of ways. Most of which wouldn't be acceptable for the dinner table, but she digresses.
"A spar," Adina ends up suggesting. "Whoever walks away with the fewest bruises wins."
"I'm more of a ranged weapons lady, so actually, that just can't do." Odette stares daggers at her, something almost enticing about the way her smile says she would eat Adina for lunch and spit her bones into a trash can. "Unless, of course, you don't want me at my best."
Before Adina can respond, Claris quickly says, "How about we don't hit each other with weapons on our first day here?"
Sabine sighs with relief. "That's a good suggestion. Yes. Please no hurting each other."
"I like Claris' idea," Gir interjects, a bit too enthusiastically, earning her a judgmental-yet-amused stare from Tyrian. "There's going to be plenty of time for us to hopefully not kill each other later, right?"
"We should not plan on killing each other at this moment, yes." Leda solemnly nods their head. "I know, of course, that there is the inevitability of us turning on each other at some point, but acting with that mindset will not do us any favors."
"It was just a joke!" The Two girl pouts.
"Oh," Leda deadpans, then attempts a laugh that comes out sounding like a dying bird. They're a strange one, huh?
"These are all good points," Adina remarks.
Really, she's just eager to shift the conversation topic away from the whole murder aspect of the Hunger Games. It's not that she thinks she's incapable of doing such a thing, but… she still has six months before she needs to worry about it. But she's beyond ready, trust her. When it's her bladed whip against an innocent child who's likely never done anything wrong, she won't hesitate, she promises.
(So how come just the thought of it makes her feel sick to her stomach? It's probably just performance anxiety, which would be stupid.)
"I don't think Odette should lead," Lavish says, voice filled with snark. "She was mean to me on the train, so maybe she'll be mean to all of you, too."
"You were mean to me first?" Odette's brows furrow. "Look, Adina — I don't want to cause a shitstorm on our first night in the Capitol."
"Good, because I don't want to be stuck in a shitstorm myself." Being stuck in a real storm, on the other hand, could be fun. "Maybe the two of us can talk and try to work something out in the next week?"
"Oh, I bet the audiences will love that!" Lavish clasps his hands together, cackling.
Odette glares at him. "What are you even trying to say?"
"I think he is trying to communicate that because we will be televised, it is important we conduct ourselves in a way that makes us as likable as possible," Leda offers.
"The freak is onto something!"
Instead of taking the nickname to heart, there's something in Leda's eyes that indicates they've been somewhat endeared. "You take me for a freak?"
"Yeah," Lavish snort-laughs. "You're a major freak."
"Thanks."
"Leda makes a good point," Claris says. "Remember, this isn't a normal year. We won't get sponsors just because we're trained. We actually need to sell the narrative that we work well together."
Honestly, Adina can rock with that. She's never struggled with being seen as unlikable, and today most certainly will not be the start of that struggle.
tyrian stone
district two / / eighteen
—
It's harder for him to concentrate than he'd like to admit. Though Tyrian managed to put on a brave face when he volunteered and stayed relatively calm when he was on the train, now's a completely different story. After all, he has every reason to believe that Ophelia is somewhere in this thirty-five square mile city, and she just may be looking for him.
How in the world is he supposed to stay calm when it's been two whole years since he last saw her, and now she's mere miles away?
Tyrian likes to think he's at least doing a semi-decent job, not really standing out amongst his new allies as somebody to worry about. Thankfully, Lavish from One seems to fill that role, nearly incapable of stopping himself from laughing at everything that everybody says, catching scathing remarks and dirty looks from the other volunteers.
Him aside, everybody seems sensible enough. Sure, Odette and Adina are a bit boisterous, but Tyrian can handle that. Besides, he gets the feeling he'll find something close to friendship in Gir, Claris, and Sabine. Leda's a different case — Tyrian's not sure they want any sort of camaraderie, even though they seem very willing to help.
(Is he making a mistake in considering getting close to those three girls? After all, they all need to die if he wants to make it back to Ophelia, to be her brother again.
It's certainly possible. But, at the same time, that's a problem for six months from now. At the present moment, it certainly doesn't hurt to play nice, so long as he can keep them at an arm's length.)
As dinner comes to a close, Tyrian pushes in his throne, then walks around the table to also push in Gir's. He made a habit out of doing gestures like this for Ianthe — damn, how he misses her already — even if she would always tease him for it.
Gir does the same thing, snickering then saying, "Okay, gentleman."
"I'm just making it so there's less work for the avoxes," Tyrian replies, courteous as ever, because he knows what it's like to struggle in a wealthy environment. Every day in Two, he had to watch as his peers went back to their mansions and what not while he slummed it in the Quarry with Eclipse — not that he ever minded it.
"Push in my throne too," Sabine pleads, a soft smile on her face.
"Of course." Tyrian does so, then gestures to Claris. "I'll do yours too. I guess I'm just the Pack's malewife, huh?" That's what Ianthe always calls him, a title almost as important as 'Ophelia's brother'.
This makes the three girls laugh, so Tyrian does too.
As the group splits off into district pairs — minus Lavish and Odette, who remain several yards apart — Tyrian asks Gir, "So, what did you think? Not so bad, right."
"Not bad at all," Gir chirps. "I really like Claris and Sabine. They seem so nice!"
He's worried that someday Gir's puppy-like demeanor is going to get her in trouble. Tyrian wants to warn her that they could be putting on a front, but it's really not his place. Besides, he knows that Gir was perfectly capable of sending a dog after her own parents, then hacking them with a mace, so maybe she's disguising herself, too. He can't blame her for that — not when he tore through that little girl's neck like a butcher preparing a carcass.)
(Whenever he closes his eyes at night, he sees her face morph into Ophelia's.)
As everybody clears the room, Vito gets up from his seat, and lightly tap's Tyrian's wrist. "Huh?" He flinches, slightly caught off guard.
"I wanted to talk to you before we go to the temporary apartment where you and Gir will be staying just for tonight," the older boy says. "Don't worry, you're not in trouble."
"I didn't think I was," Tyrian replies, smiling much to Vito's relief. "What's up?"
Vito points to a door in the corner, where the avoxes have been coming in and out all evening. "Follow me. There's somebody who requested to see you."
A million thoughts race through Tyrian's head as he follows Vito. Who wants to see him? Is it — no, it can't be. If it's not her then who is it? Did Vito lie and he actually is in trouble with somebody? What did he do, then? Has something like this ever happened before? A few of the other victors turn around, confused, but Tyrian tunes them out.
They walk through a barren hallway, passing by a few avoxes who obviously don't say anything, until he turns the corner, and everything changes.
He only sees Ophelia for a split second before she runs toward him and wraps her arms around his back, her dark curls blocking his vision. From his brief look at her, he noticed she was less frail than he remembered, taller too. She's grown her hair out a bit and dyed the tips pink and orange. Tyrian's never been one to cry, but he feels his eyes watering up and he can't do anything about it.
But suddenly, a new fear crosses his mind and he whispers, "Please don't say you're an avox now?"
"What happened to 'hello' or 'how are you?'" Ophelia pulls away, tears in her eyes and that same goofy smile he watched grow up painted on her face. "Tyrian! I'm so happy to see you."
"I…" His voice trails off. "Ophelia, you're here."
"My parents—" She bites her tongue, hoping Tyrian didn't catch what he said. Of course he did. "The people who adopted me are caterers and they did this event. Enough about me though, what are you doing here?"
"Competing in the Games," Tyrian says, suddenly embarrassed.
"Yeah, I know that, silly. But didn't you say that you don't want to—"
"I know," he cuts her off. "I know I said that, but I thought maybe if I volunteered, I would be able to bring you back to Two. I would be able to bring you home."
Ophelia stares at him blankly for a second. "Oh, Tyrian. That's really sweet but… here is where I belong."
"W-What do you mean?" He trembles, flinching backwards. This can't be happening to him. It just can't be.
"The Capitol is my home."
And just like that, Tyrian Stone shatters. He doesn't know how, but he'll change Ophelia's mind. He has no other choice.
balor sciarra
eighteen / / district five
—
He didn't choose any of this shit.
He didn't choose to wake up yesterday morning. He didn't choose to be reaped. He didn't choose to get his arm broken and he most definitely did not choose to be on this "journey" with one of the most confusing people alive.
They'll admit this much: at least Andi's interesting, more interesting than Dardanos, which is something Balor never thought they'd think about another person. It's a different kind of interesting, however; less directly sinister, but equally unsettling.
As the two of them prepare to leave the train, lined up side by side, Andi looks at them, smirks, and says, "You realize everybody is going to ask you how you broke your arm out there, right?"
"What?" Balor stammers, taking a step backwards.
"You didn't tell me why," they clarify. "All you said was 'it's personal.' That's not going to satisfy the masses, you realize."
"You think I care what they think of me?"
"I think you should start caring what they think unless you want to be dead in six months."
"I want to be dead before then," Balor hisses, hoping that neither Journey or Anita can hear him.
Andi rolls their eyes. "Yeah? Well, that's kind of moronic."
"Maybe."
"Definitely," they reply, then stroll over to Journey before briefly looking over their shoulder. "You coming, Balls?"
"Don't call me that," Balor mutters under their breath, knowing damn well that it's pointless. Andi is insistent like that. Dardanos was too, but in a creepier way. What is he even thinking? Are they even making any sense right now?
It's fine — Balor doesn't have to make sense. They almost died two days ago.
He follows Andi anyway. It's not like he has another choice. When they reach the door, Journey tells them, "Please don't fuck up too badly."
"If I do, it'd be your fault," Balor whispers, hoping Journey doesn't hear him. It's true — Journey hasn't said all that much to either of them, even though he's supposed to be their mentor. Granted, he doesn't know what he would want Journey to say, or if they'd even take his advice, but it would be great if he put in some effort since Balor definitely will not be.
His plan is simple — make everybody here suffer, get Stella out of prison, and then die once he's accomplished the first two things.
Now that he thinks of it, he probably should've asked Journey for help with the second item on his agenda. Eh, whatever. He has six months to ask him, and what can he say — almost dying was a bit exhausting.
The train door swings open and Balor is immediately flash banged by several dozen cameras. He should be used to loud noises and flashing lights by now — it was what he faced every day at the Serpent's Spine — but it still overwhelms him, squinting and putting up his arms to cover his face. A part of him wishes he would just have a seizure right now and then die on the floor, but the rest of them knows they could never get so lucky.
There's a red carpet rolled out in front of the train doors, the people with cameras shoved together against velvet ropes,nearly tripping over the flimsy barricade and each other just for a look at them. None of them look like anybody that Balor's ever seen before — one has neon pink skin, another has a long braided beard that stretches down to the floor, and there's even somebody with an ear surgically attached to their forehead .
(Lord, Stella would've thought this was so hilarious. She would've made the stupidest poses in front of everybody and eaten up their attention like it's her favorite candy. She's far more suited for this than Balor; not the death games, but rather the being in the spotlight thing. She'd be a fan favorite, he just knows it.)
More lights flash as Andi shoves past him, slyly smiling for the cameras and shooting off finger-guns with their hands. They're a certified natural, and the people seem to love them for it.
Balor on the other hand is received with far less praise. Nobody shouts or screams their name when they make it down to the red carpet; it's like Andi is the only one any of them sees. He doesn't know why he was expecting anything different — he's kind of the most unloveable person in Panem.
"C'mon darlings." Andi addresses the crowd. "Why don't you share the love with Balls over here?"
He awkwardly waves at the crazed Capitolites. "Hello."
Of course, only now they have the "Andi Vivaldi Seal of Approval" or whatever, do people start to pay attention to him. The neon-pink lady pokes her head through two people on the barrier and hollers, "Why'd you miss the reaping?"
It makes Balor freeze. What are they supposed to say? "Sorry I wasn't there because I'm actually supposed to be dead?" Nobody wants to hear his miserable suicidal nonsense. So, they simply roll their eyes at the lady, which just makes her groan.
"Fine. Suit yourself!"
Andi turns around, facing Balor, and says, "Give him some time. He was having nap-time on the train and he gets all cranky when he wakes up."
"Fuck you," he grumbles.
"Sorry, what was that?" Andi puts one hand to their ear. "Did you have something you wanted to say to the Capitolites?"
"I said," Balor sharply exhales. "Fuck you!" Andi looks at him, smiles, then bites their lip while the crowd collectively gasps, perfectly in sync with one another. A dead silence falls over the station hall. "Fuck everybody here! I just want to be left alone."
Before they can say anything else, they feel an unfamiliar hand wrap around their wrist. He turns to see it belongs to Journey, who says, "Back off, Sciarra."
"Since when are you the boss?" If Balor had even less dignity, they'd have every reason to punch him in the face right now.
"Since about forty-eight hours ago, actually."
"You're not funny," Balor sneers.
"That's good. I wasn't trying to be."
How the hell is Balor supposed to last another day here, much less six entire months? Oh, Journey, Andi, and everyone else within eyesight are going to regret messing with him. Even if they might not know it now, they'll all be screaming for bloody mercy once Balor's done with them.
Damn, Stella would call them a chuuni for thinking like that. Fuck.
satin tessaro
fifteen / / district twelve
—
Strangely, the main thing Satin's thought since getting dragged out of his cell yesterday and being told he's going to the Capitol is that hey, at least now his mom knows he didn't die in Eight and he actually was sent to prison. Does that matter when there's a good chance he's going to die anyway? He's unsure.
Actually, what the hell is Satin even talking about? Nah, he'd win.
It's incredibly relieving when he's finally able to get out of the train, even if it means he has to make his grand debut to the whole capitol next to Jalen. Satin knows it's bad to make fun of people, but that's never stopped him in the past. Besides it's not his fault Jalen is just so impossibly easy to mess with. Seriously, he lives in a prison but is obsessed with soup and giving free therapy. He's literally asking to be made fun of.
"Ladies first," Satin says, gesturing to the door with a manic smile.
Jalen sighs, clearly not very amused by this. What a shame — Satin was being so hilarious! Even if it might've sounded sexist, that wasn't the intention. He loves his mom too much to be sexist, even if he has no way of being sure she loves him back.
When the doors fly open, Satin's expecting a million cameras pointed in his direction and a bunch of people shouting his name (and not Jalen's) as he struts down a red carpet. Instead, he gets, well… nothing. Okay, that's not entirely true. He gets to take a nice long look at the Capitol's marble architecture, somehow sleek yet old-school at the same time. He also gets much-needed sunlight, since the District Twelve train didn't have any windows.
Still, he can't help that he was kind of expecting more. Perhaps, even receiving just the smallest sliver of positive attention, even though Satin knows that's way too much for a little guy like him to ask for.
Before he can properly take in the scenery, Jalen lightly shoves him aside and rushes out of the train. "Where are you going?" Satin shouts, though he doesn't get a response. That means that he has to do what he unfortunately does best, be a follower.
As he dashes past the other tributes, he quickly looks them up and down. Him and Jalen didn't get to watch the reapings like everybody else which already puts him at a disadvantage, but Satin can still persevere. He just needs to find somebody tall and tough who'll protect him when push comes to shove. Not only that, he needs to be as tolerable as he can be to everybody he meets, charm them into thinking he's too cute and precious to be maimed and killed in six months.
One of the girls from Ten seems big and tough, albeit unbothered, and the same goes for one of the Seven boys. Still, he's paying the most attention to Jalen, so deeply curious what he's chasing after. It kind of sucks that this great race hasn't forced any paparazzi to pay attention to Satin, but it is what it is.
In fact, Satin's actually really glad nobody is taking pictures when Jalen suddenly stops in front of the District Five car, so Satin stops too, and he ends up with his face colliding into somebody's chest. Yikes.
Stunned, Satin backs away, tilting up his head to examine who he just accidentally bonked. Obviously, he's quite a bit taller than Satin, and he has greasy black hair that falls to his shoulders. Upon second glance, Satin notices that one of his hands is in a cast, and he can't help but wonder how he got it. Did he get into a fight and get injured? That'd actually be so badass, especially if he was still able to land a few punches in on the other guy. Did Satin really just find his protector this easily? Huge if true.
"What do you want?" The older boy grumbles, brows furrowed so sharply, he almost looks constipated.
"Hi!" Satin politely waves, turning his charm-o-meter up to level one-hundred. "I'm Satin! What's your name?"
"Why's it matter to you?" Actually, maybe he's not Satin's protector. He kind of looks like he wants to kill him, and in that case he's six months early so….
"Balor!" The man standing next to the two of them, who Satin now realizes is Jalen's victor friend, Journey, scorns. "Are you causing problems again?"
"I'm not," Balor (shout out Journey for teaching Satin his name) says with a scoff. "I'm… um… socializing."
The victor then turns his attention back to Jalen and says, "My two are kind of a handful this year."
"Can you still help me too?" Jalen begs, eyes wide like a puppy.
"I can try."
Satin wants to loudly scream that Jalen is cheating, but that would be a waste of time, so instead he turns back to Balor and says, "So, I heard you're socializing."
"Not with you," the Five boy sneers.
"Then who are you socializing with?"
Nervously twitching, Balor scans the area until his eyes lock onto somebody wearing the same shades of pink and green as he is. "Andi. My district partner."
Oh! Satin saw their name on Balor's cast — how exciting! "Are you guys friends? Jalen and I aren't really friends, but who knows? Maybe we could be!"
Balor doesn't answer, instead making a beeline for the bald-headed baddie who is apparently named Andi. So, Satin turns to Jalen and asks, "You going to introduce me to your friend or what?"
"I've met you before," Journey says, matter-of-fact. "You tried to throw rice at me last week for seemingly no reason. What makes you think I'm going to help you?"
"District Twelve supremacy?" Satin replies, trying and failing to sound convinced of himself.
"Yeah sure, kid." Journey snorts out a laugh. "Whatever you say."
Eh. Whatever. Satin'll get 'em next time. He's sure of it!
shiloh bailey
seventeen / / district nine
—
Even when he's in the Capitol, standing in their train station, he's not sure how he's supposed to process anything that's happened to him in the past two days.
Shiloh knows he should've accepted it by now — his mother was perchance right all along, he's cursed, and now he is going to die, but it doesn't seem so simple anymore. He wants to believe that he has a chance, even though he only has a cursory understanding of what the Hunger Games are from attending reapings for the past six years. Mother never let him watch the Games. She said it was a bad omen and that if he watched too long, he'd be doomed to someday be reaped himself.
Jokes on her — Shiloh was reaped anyway.
Every muscle in his body tells him that he has to survive, even if he doesn't know how. It's just not his time to die yet. It can't be; not so close after he was finally set free from the cage that his mother stuck him in.
As people take pictures of him, time seems to move in slow motion. Everybody seems to be expecting something from him, but he isn't sure what they want. Xavian told him on the train that the best thing he could do is simply "be himself," but Shiloh's never got the chance to figure out who exactly that is. Now he fears he'll die before then.
Asphodel, at the very least, seems to be enjoying himself. He's getting all sorts of reception as he flashes goofy poses and a toothy smile. There's something about them that Shiloh will never understand. Even though they're the same age as him, Asphodel is filled with so much joy and whimsy, while Shiloh feels like he's been chained to reality from the moment he was born.
Yesterday, he asked Shiloh if he wanted to be their friend. He said yes, but he immediately realized after that he has no idea what it's even like to have a friend.
Shiloh guesses it can't hurt to start by standing side by side with Asphodel, so they walk closer to him and start imitating their poses. First, he flashes a peace sign, something Mother never would've allowed, and then he does his best to grin. He doesn't have much experience with smiling, however, so it sort of makes the muscles in his lips sting from discomfort.
"Yo, what's up, big guy?" Asphodel says to Shiloh, as if he didn't see him less than five minutes ago. "Want to get groovy with me?"
"What's that mean?" Shiloh asks, voice sincere.
"It means we're going to dance," they explain, shaking their hips from side to side and using one hand to point from the sky down to his opposite hip. "Like this!"
Shiloh nods, then tries to replicate Asphodel's dance. It's nothing like the way Shiloh dances when nobody can see him, usually when he's outside in his garden. There, he spins around in circles and jumps with his legs pointing outwards in the air. When it's early enough in the morning, there's still some mist in the air and it delicately caresses Shiloh's face the way Mother never did when he was a baby.
The people seem to like him and Asphodel's dance, so Shiloh doesn't stop. Everybody is rather peculiar, some with abnormally colored skin and others with eloquent hairstyles that defy the laws of physics. Shiloh doesn't think he'll ever fit in here, but when he's dancing, it's easy for him to forget all of that.
"It's incredible to see that you guys are so close," one of the people, a man with a two-foot tall neon green top hat. "Did you know each other before yesterday?"
"Nope!" Asphodel shouts, so loud it makes Shiloh stumble backwards and cover his ears with his hands. "But, I'd say that he's on track to becoming one of my best friends. I have lots of friends back home, but none of them are quite like Shiloh."
"That's because I don't smoke weed," he supplies.
"He doesn't!" The other boy enthuses, hands waving in the air. "Isn't that crazy?"
Shiloh doesn't think so, but he's also never had the chance to smoke. If he did, Mother would've said that he's inhaling the "devil's lettuce" or something to that effect.
"Does he want to start?" Another person asks, digging into her purse until she procures a large, neatly-rolled joint. "If you take this, you better promise to kick ass in the arena, though."
Asphodel rips it out of her hand before Shiloh can even consider. At the same time, he knows that if he asked them for it later, they'd give it to him without a lick of hesitation.
"We'll fight for it like dogs later," he says, teasingly. "Two boys and one blunt. Who will win?"
"Shiloh!" Asphodel laments, hitting himself on the forehead. "Blunts are to be shared amongst close personal friends, dude."
"Well, that just shows how little I know." This earns a round of laughter from the crowd, which makes Shiloh smile wider than ever before.
Xavian and Goldeen emerge from the train and start ushering the boys down the red carpet, along to whatever their next destination may be. Wherever they're going, Shiloh sure hopes it's as grandeur-inspiring as the train station.
And if not, that's okay too. For the next six months, Shiloh doesn't have to worry about every little thing the way he did back in Nine, even after Mother died. Food will always be on the table, and he'll be well taken care of, provided with laughter, friends, and endless entertainment. As scary as it may be, Shiloh finds that he's ready to explore the great wide world he finally has a real place in.
(At the same time, he worries about what will happen in six months' time, when his wings are clipped once more and he's forced to fight for the right to fly. What if freedom is as addictive to him as weed is to Asphodel?)
(What if he has to do unspeakable things just to set himself free? What if Shiloh doesn't think he minds it — not even one bit?)
Two weeks wait isn't bad. That might be the new normal as I get my life together, or some shit. Thank you Erik for beta-ing! Yes, that's right – he got to beta even though Tyrian had a POV. No, he was not amused. Too bad!
Thank you everybody for reading! Next chapter will cover the Belated Snow Day Banquet or "BSDB" if you're freaky, from the POVs of Ulesi, Senna, Karystos, and Arisa! Awesome!
Q: What is your most "white dad" personality trait.
That question was from Brooke, so if you hate it, not my fault. Personally, mine is that I [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]. Actually I never did that — my white father did.
Linds. Laugh. Love.