three thousand years from home . maya / manu

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

m a n u

caught at the impasse
to know or not to know
both with their consequences
both deadly

It doesn't feel like much of a party. Not that Manu's ever been to one, anyway. When his family celebrated with champagne and hors d'oeuvres, he remained hidden away. He wouldn't like it, they said, laughing and singing while he sat in silence in the upstairs bedroom. Manu was just a guest in the place that was refurbished to be his home. It's similar here, in the middle of the colosseum. Somber faces travel the grounds, all guests of honor for the big event. He doesn't belong among them. His classes on how to be Panem's patriot should not have put him here. Manu rolls the sleeves of his shirt past the elbows. Perhaps it is the intrusive thoughts and contradictions in his mind that have led him to receive such a punishment.

The twenty-three faces around him bring forth uncertainty. The game has not started yet but scenarios pose a threat to every finger and face. Two outcomes will be presented tomorrow: live or die. Probability tips the scales toward death. It begs the question: what does Manu want? Glittery stars can only grant wishes and answers for so long. The final breath and the last image presented to him… what can be achieved from it?

Subconsciously, he answers the question. To know. Is that too much to ask? The strict guidance he has been given suggests the answer is yes. If Manu isn't allowed to know something, there must be a reason. The mind guards against new things to protect the brain from those pathogens. He's already sick, though. Everything he shouldn't know is getting through to him, and the possibilities of what he can learn grow exponentially.

Brave the pain, Manu. Death is an illness that's well spreading through the bloodstream. Knowing that he doesn't know is better than not knowing. That phrase sends a strict cold through him. He's stretching into disobedient acts and it should result in punishment. He remembers when they slapped him numb across the face. None of these tributes will punish him like that, surely. Not tonight, at least.

Manu keeps his hands slid into the back pockets of his jeans. He's nervous to speak to those around him. They must be so different. But at least they look like they know.

He wants to know, too. So badly.

He approaches one of the kids alone in the colosseum. Groups are too much for now. "Hi. Um…" How is this supposed to work? Manu pauses. He can't just ask them 'what do you know?'. He stumbles through his speech. "Do you want to talk? Tonight might be our last chance to just talk." She has every right to knock him in the face if she wants, but he carries on anyway. "I want to talk. But I also want to listen, um."

Every fiber in his being warns him that this is a mistake. ('To know' is a dangerous mission. Knowledge leads to questions, and questions are bad for you, Manuel. Questions will labor your loyalty to the Capitol.) A hushed pain-filled exhale escapes him. He'd receive punishment for stepping this far if he was at home. That tiny question alone is enough to make him scared.

Can a boy of bones tolerate the whole truth if something this small has all of him breaking?

elegant

[lionel estrada d5 ᥫ᭡ kiah]

It takes three peacekeepers to drag my reluctant ass from the train and into the depths of the colosseum. I was only a couple weeks away from being trailed as an adult when they pulled my fucking name from the jar sending me to my execution two weeks to early. "I have two more weeks! Two more weeks dickheads!" I growl, hissing at the iron grip that shoves my hands roughly behind my back reducing my squirming significantly. I hated the whine behind the growl, it showed my desperation which made me cringe on the inside.

"Fuck you, Capitol scum!" Resorting to throwing around more insults, not an unusual tactic of mine, attempting to conceal my real feelings.

After a few more insults are thrown I am once again locked behind bars, the shackles around my wrists removed only once I calmed down. Which was long enough for the iron to cause the scars to become inflamed and bleed at certain spots where my skin integrity was severely compromised. It was as they were leaving that they informed me that I was to be escorted to some sort of party.

Confused, and for the first time all day, silent, I follow closely behind the guards. I was as disgusted by the thought of some sort of death party as I was excited. It had been three years since I had been able to have any sort of interaction with kids my age. Incarceration was lonely, and despite the offensive, mostly one sided conversation, I had with my guards, I yearned human interaction, more than I cared to admit.

A lady whose dress made me feel severely underdressed welcomes us to the event that was designed to honour us and our sacrifice. It was an odd feeling to be thanked for being forced to participate in a game that required 24 children to fight to the death. "Fuck you!" I jeer as her speech comes to an end, which gains me a scowl from the nearby guards.

It was then that my eye caught sight of one of banquet they had put out, causing my stomach to growl, and my mouth to salivate. it had been three years since I had eaten something that wasn't speckled with mould, or tasted like fucking cardboard. As I examine the table, a voice disrupts me, causing my to rip my eyes off the food, "hi. Um…" the boy starts awkwardly and I have half a mind to tell him to rack off because I was starving.

But the part of me that yearned for human connection won me over, and I give the boy a small smile, which must have been encouraging enough for him to continue on with his attempts at communicating. "Do you want to talk? Tonight might be our last chance to just talk. I want to talk. But I also want to listen, um."

I clear my throat, watching him closely for a moment. "You're kinda awkward, you know," I start, it had been a long time since I had started a conversation without an insult, without my guard up ready to fight with sharp words aimed at the jugular. "And it would seem that tonight is your lucky night, seeing as our execution isn't scheduled till tomorrow, my night is open." .

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

m a n u

a scary place
to be
left, right, front, back
they all could be an enemy

Smiles cut from his face to hers while Manu waits for some sort of response. He should really be more careful around these other tributes. Perhaps it wasn't so smart for him to be curious at such a high-risk time. He would be much better off taking the conservative approach, holding any questions until after the applause rain down tomorrow. (Yes, tomorrow sounds like a better plan, Manuel.) He begins to turn, but the girl clears her throat and keeps his attention.

"You're kinda awkward, you know," she says the silent part out loud. It's been this way for quite some time with Manu. Speaking up– no– out– to people he does not trust can be challenging. Especially here, where nobody's got his best interest in mind except Manu himself. She continues to open herself up to him, though, a bear hug or bear trap, and it keeps him in. "And it would seem that tonight is your lucky night, seeing as our execution isn't scheduled till tomorrow, my night is open."

"I don't know if I'd call it an execution, but-" he pauses, catching himself before he goes too deep. Manu needs to remember his audience. His circles back home would agree but not everyone here has been graced by the truth of the Rebellion. "Executions seem much more classy. This… is ruthless."

Is that what Manu believes, or is it what he knows this individual would like to hear? Nervous to know the answer himself, he breaks his own tension by grabbing one of the blueberry muffins at the banquet table, having missed out on the opportunity with Dr. Lapointe earlier. Picking apart the wrapper, he carries on.

"Can I hear a little bit about you?" How far forward can Manu be before he's falling flat on his face? "Just about, like, where you come from."

Her name, idiot.

"Oh! And your name, obviously."

elegant