Five Eyes [Kass/Des]

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

d e s a r a e .

*

Transmission had ceased at dawn and scrambled once again to a new frequency. At the helm of her living room cockpit – for it resembled more of a starship’s bridge than a space reserved for parties or casual meet-cutes – Desarae had pulled up a few holos to review. She waved away an image of two, of happy fascist boots clicking away across a barracks to place it with a man smiling across a porch in the fields of eleven. She paused to wipe up a series of notes, of clandestine meetings and communiques explaining peacekeeper presence before turning her attention to a series of sound files from thirteen.

She’d spent the evening of the finale away from the hustle and bustle of downtown. Not that anyone had thought her sends regrets were anything out of the ordinary. Des was known for a few things – straight candor, perfecting next generation artificial intelligence, and complete disinterest in any social gathering – which provided cover for the biggest social event of the season.

Instead, she’d opened a bottle of wine and spent a holo-call with her sister reminiscing memories of childhood, alongside chitterchatter about her sister’s daughters and the dreadful bastards (Rae’s words, not hers) who she worked for. A few glasses of wine later, she was humming along in the kitchen cooking up a pizza and popping a gummy into her mouth before settling in front of a holoscreen for the latest offerings from Saturn City. She’d fallen asleep at half past ten, well before any of the parties she’d been invited to had even begun.

Now, as the sun gleamed orange and the clocked ticked past eight, she’d centered on the file of Kassandra Nerys and the whole of eleven. A possible miscreant, someone the capitol had their eyes on if only because the elevens seemed less inclined to implode than most. Though she had her enemies, but then, she wouldn’t have been much of anything if she didn’t. Especially the likes of government officials and peacekeepers. They were only nervous when they sensed raw power they couldn’t control.

When the chimes started alerting Des that someone was crossing the footbridge to her home, she stood to wipe away the crumbs sprinkled across her jeans and wave away the holos she’d been reviewing. In another wave of her hands, she had the whole of her living room sprouting grain alongside a dirt road with her couch and coffee table crouched upon a hill in front of her.

She opened a communication channel and cleared her throat, “Entry granted, Kassandra Nerys.”

She'd dispatched a holo-request to the young mentor explaining she wished to meet, "Less as a fan, and more in terms of curiosity of what I've heard about you... I have a business venture for you." Passed along with the hope it'd been mistakenly as plain as other admirers requests. Nothing too unordinary.

Desarae had designed the post-post-modern home herself. Something of a cube of dark black metal with silvery windows, she believed it projected a certain confidence alongside carefully having been crafted to prevent any sort of possible easy surveillance. Not that she hadn’t attended to her own security systems beyond that.

“I wasn’t sure if you would come. Welcome. Take the hallway on the left and meet me through the field. Make yourself at home.”

elegant

[sbeeg]

Woo a career district won, how original. Kassandra grabbed a bottle of liquor from the mentor's lounge and retired to her room. Her tributes had died says ago, their lives barely a memory as everyone cheered the winner. Poor fucking O'Malleys, she was going to have to fight them off the rest of her life.

She kicked off her heels and flicked the top off the bottle, taking a swig. She'd decided that trying to be subtle about coping mechanisms was boring and took too much effort. Everyone loved Persimmon stress baking, and now everyone would love Kassandra getting shit faced in her room and not bothering anyone.

She looked to her pad on her nightstand, left abandoned since Abel died. No need to watch the Games so closely when you don't have any skin in the game. Yet, there was a message. She leaned over and tapped it.

An invitation, and not to one of the many bullshit parties the Capitol likes to throw, but a "business venture."

She was only in the Capitol for a few more days, might as well milk as much good will from people for next year. Maybe then she'd be leaving with a live body instead of two cold ones.

***

The structure she approached was the right address, but it didn't look anything like a house. The Capitol citizens were always trying new dumb things and Kass didn't see the purpose in reinventing how to build a damn house, but she approached it anyway, crossing a small bridge to the door.

She followed the voice, taking the hallway on her left until she entered the "field."

It was a bastardization of District Eleven. There was dirt beneath her feet, wheat everywhere, and even a small hill rising up towards the sky. Like someone had drawn a propaganda poster and then lived inside of it. Her head spun. So much technology and they used it for this.

"Hello?" she asked the field, looking for anybody among the wheat. Even after years of visiting the Capitol there were still cultural shocks she could not get used to, and this was one of them. Entire walls, and now rooms, switched to whatever scene you'd like. No looking at the same drab house all day, you could simply change it. Already this host was grating on her. "I don't have a lot of time."

It was a lie, but they didn't need to know that.

table by griffin