this stall is for crying —「snowspire.」

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

   
        ↳ E R R A S                                                      

“Oh, great," I mutter. “The betrothed’s are coming.”

Dolly and Grant have been together for a bit of time now but it feels awfully close to forever, and when you are with a person for that amount of time, isn’t it sort of fucking tedious? I don’t know. If I was born in the Capitol, as I rightfully should have been, I would date a new boy every night and break his heart come morning light. They’d write about me in all the gossip papers and tabloids, call me names like ‘heart-eater’ and ‘sybarite’, and I’d laugh from the comfort of my bed with a ridiculously high thread count.

I sigh dreamily. Maybe it's a trauma response to A-word. 

For now, I have my arm linked with Lovie’s, both of us shadowing the wake of Farah’s rebellion and my own. Screw being adopted. Screw that bitch Bailey. “Did you read the magazine I left in your room yesterday? Have you seen Cricket Antoinette’s 75th Hunger Games photoshoot?” I ask Lovie, my lips curling unbidden. “Deceased! Dead on the ground! She’s an icon, a legend, and she is the moment. Except for the murdering children part but, I mean, if I looked as good as her doing it, I’d also take up the mantle,” I shrug and let out a chuckle.

There are times when I say really fucked up things that I don't always mean. One time, between one of Pippa’s fledgling magic acts, I told her that she should perform the disappearing act on herself and save us all the trouble. Like, who says that? I have a meanness inside me, a sizzling acid. When I speak, I do it to corrode.

I am working on it, for the most part.

But why should I keep my thoughts to myself when they can be used for the benefit and growth of others? If you ask me, Pippa became a wonderful magician.

I look back over my shoulder and catch Coley smile as he talks to Alain. A pang, deep in the chest, is set off. Are they talking about me? Doubt it. And yet my eyes linger for a second too long, almost trying to read lips, before I turn back towards Pippa in front of us.

“Pip, where the fuck is Hanna? I asked her to see if she’d try out a few fits tomorrow and she, like, totally ghosted.” I even promised her I’d polish her violin strings. Seemed a fair trade. ”I hope she’s-” Farah opens the bathroom door, and voila, ”not dead.” I snicker. And I know the old dance, as we all do, that tension thick enough to be carved into a museum full of statues whenever Farah and Hanna are breathing the same air in a room. 

“In the Capitol, they drink these things call 'champagne'. It’s supposed to make you look younger, I guess. That’s why every victor pushing thirty is drinking it.” I look at myself in the grimy bathroom mirror, face mask and everything. Don’t need a drop of champagne at all. ”So,” my eyes whirl around, joining the pairs already on Farah. “Where are the goods?” I grin.

「 thread title © king mattio. 」

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

꧁  pippa   ꧂

It's nice to feel included.

Trailing just behind Farrah, Lovie and Erras at your heels, it's as close to belonging as you've felt in a long while. Often, you occupy your time with wonderful and exciting things, but more often still, there's always been an invisible string connecting you to a place you can't quite see. All you know is that as much as you love your castle in the snow, deeply and truly and obediently — you've always been comfortable with the idea of being elsewhere.

You're not even picky! You'll happily trade the tundra for a warmer climate, maybe somewhere with an ocean view. There are so many pictures in your schoolbooks that you've traced drawings of, doodled prettily on a list of sights you want to see before you're old and gray and gone. The sea is one, of course, but so are mountains, and deserts, and even the Capitol, too. Just not as a tribute! To this day, you still cover your eyes during all the scary parts. Lamb's wool obscuring your vision from the terrors, but doesn't that only make the wolves hungrier? Hmm.

When you hear Erras gushing the praise of a victor, admittedly to Lovie and obviously not to you, it's on instinct that you wince. Nobody asks, but you'll always tell. "The thing I like most about Cricket is her pet tiger, but yeah, the murdering children part is also a big no for me." You smile sweetly over your shoulder, a little guiltily, still keeping pace with the rebel at their front. People are always so weirdly tense around Farrah, like a finger trembling against a hair trigger, but you don't feel that way at all!

She knows a lot of things, and even if she doesn't really care about the topics you like, she always listens to your questions and answers patiently. Eighteen years has made your skin just tough enough, and you've already heard all the worst jokes. Even the rare original one only makes you cry for a couple hours. You always dry your eyes and get back up on your feet at the end of the day. It's all you've ever been able to do. Farrah doesn't need to worry about watching her tone around you; you wholeheartedly appreciate all the different facets of a person.

Even if he used to say awful things about you, and even if sometimes you believed those things were true — finger snap, try to disappear — you also enjoy Erras' company. His outfits are always the prettiest colors, and he can tell you the name of them right down to the shade. Around him, you have learned to see more than just the rainbow, so really, how could you stay angry? Scars heal, and one day soon, you'll be living in a mansion with parents who have been dreaming of you, and only you. You've never been picked first during group projects, or for the occasional team sport. But it's coming! Right around the corner, like Joyce always says.

As sad as it is to hear someone else is getting their golden ticket out of the academy, the energy in the halls is palpable. All around you, voices chat excitedly and quietly about the festivities being planned. Erras even speaks to you directly, and you twirl on your heels and stop in your tracks to make sure you hold eye contact with him, grinning brightly. "Pip, where the fuck is Hanna? I asked her to see if she'd try out a few fits tomorrow and she, like, totally ghosted."

"Probably practicing, if we're talking logical? Ooh, or maybe she's found a secret door and now she's asking fairies for directions home! But, um, if you need someone, I'd actually love to try your cloth—" / "I hope she's—"

Erras breaks your sentence only to be cut off himself. The bathroom door swings open, and the musically gifted culprit reveals herself on the other side. "Not dead." You smile a little awkwardly, but still warmly, stepping out of the way to allow Lovie and Erras to pass you by. "Just one second, sorry, and then I'm so ready to hang with you guys! I need to ask Alain a favor first." Turning away and rushing back down the hallway, it's not long before you run into the lionhearted boy who has always looked over your class of students so graciously.

Sometimes fate is like that; where you need to be is exactly where you'll end up.

"Hi, Alain, sorry to bug you! Do you have a moment?" You beam at him, hands clasped behind your back. Today, and always, you want to manifest bigger and better things for yourself. And you'd like to be able to keep and cherish all of the memories you'll make along the way, so who better to turn to than the friend standing in front of you? "I'm gonna get drunk for the first time tonight, would you please take a picture of me having my first sip? I made a bet that I'm not gonna make a funny face or anything. I mean, is it really all that sour?"

[ryan]

they are a little apprehensive on joining in the bacchanalia that was about to go down in the bathroom they had been using since they were old enough to reach the door handle. bronte knew that she probably should have skipped it, however, a curious mind did linger, and while that curious mind might not have gained any perspective from guzzling down copious amounts of, what they could only presume is, stolen alcohol... they didnt want to feel left out.

they had become a master of committing to the wallflower stereotype. alain said it because bronte did not know how to effectively communicate when they felt like they were being left out of a conversation. they knew all too well that none of the people that she grew up understood her completely. maybe joyce, and definitely lovie, but they could at least try to extrapolate enough to understand where her state of mind was. they thought about the time that joyce had talked them down from running away from this place just two weeks ago. a part of her knew that a realist would be the best counter to their own self doubt and cynicism.

farah always made sure to let bronte know that what they had to contribute would never be enough.

and for once, bronte could share in that notion, but that did not mean that bronte accepted what farah said as the holy book of what was right and what was wrong. on the contrary, bronte did understand the morality of what it was like to grow up in a place that felt like it was locked off and sealed away.

she followed behind most of the group, their footsteps just silent enough to be able to blend in with the sound of erras ever-running mouth. the bathroom had been just spacious enough to accommodate the group of teenagers that stormed it, though bronte did wonder just how long they would have until they would probably have to move the party somewhere else. bronte only knew that they would not be picking the next place, not in a million years. they would wait for someone to mention the auditorium, and bronte would probably throw her arms up in protest in their head. that was the second most sacred space in this dismal place, right next to the art studio.

they would never be brave enough to say something though.

"cricket antoinette is fascinating and scary at the same time..." bronte said lowly, their back traveling along the wall until they had found a place they felt comfortable enough to blend in. their brain felt like it was misfiring on all cylinders, and maybe it was time to let it rest for just a moment. they made eye contact with pippa for just a moment as she asked alain to document this momentus occasion with a quick photo.

little did pippa know that bronte was also taking notes of this whole entire experience. after all, everything could be drawn if they remembered vividly enough.

[✨ zozo.]

↳ FARAH

Erras and Lovie, bitter and sweet. Pippa bringing up the rear. Farah bites down a smile as she hears the line march to the beat of her drum, leader of this small rebellion. For all the empty space in Lovie's brain, she has never been anything but kind to Farah - even when she wasn't all that kind back. And Pippa has this glimmer of wonder in her eyes that makes Farah feels like she's flying whenever she looks at her.

Farah thinks it's adoration - or her deluded version of it. And a little bit of fear. Mostly, probably, fear. A tenseness in everyone's bones, an awkward shift into themselves - that's how most react when she walks in the room. And she likes it, that power trip. That sense of control, of knowing everyone else can feel the volatile rage simmering in her blood. But not these two. Especially not Pippa. Pippa is...

immune, somehow. And usually that would only make Farah more irate. But there's something more than that lack of fear. That peak of curiosity, a sense of someone actually caring. Someone actually wanting more, more, more - of her. Not her clothes, not her body, not her spite or her adrenaline rush or her showmanship. Just her.

And she drinks it up until she's drowning in it, magical girl casting a spell on her - or perhaps the other way around.

"I got the good stuff this year," she grins, calling over her shoulder to the girls and their wide eyes and winking. "Might give you a headache or two, but none of that homebrew shit that gave us all gastro two years prior-" (that's the last time she trusted Wyatt with unlabeled ingredients) "-I've upped my ga..."

Then the curtain falls, and there sits Hanna. Freshly crying, as per usual. On most occasions Farah feels a sense of victory at seeing her worst enemy wounded, but today she just feels fucked off - and her face shows it. This was her party. This was her moment. Kicking off the year Farah's way, surrounded by people that wanted - maybe even needed - something from her for once.

And to think her morning was going so well! Hanna's absence explained most all of it.

"You would bring up Year Nine" Farah sighed, throwing her whole figure into turning around to glare at Hanna "considering it was the last time you were considered somewhat relevant."

"And like I'd ever share my stash with you,"

(there was once a time they used to giggle through hushed fingers, stumble and gag at the fire in their throats, wince and laugh like friends did passing a secret from hand to hand.

Fay.
Han.

Farah shakes it off, shuddering.)

"Wouldn't want you to choke."

She spits the last word out - firebreather, oxygen thief - and lets the heat of a shared memory hang in the air.

[ coding by griffin ]

[[nyte]]

It's a requiem for the mistakes we make again and again. We're positively joyful as we march into a haven of smooth tile and the stench of sodium hydroxide. (If only Bingham were around, I'd ask if remembering the chemical component of toilet-bowl cleaner on the precipice of getting absolutely smashed was worth extra credit.) There's tension in the air tonight, stiff and suffocating enough to convince me this is an even worse idea than it usually is.

And Farah's stash once gave me such bad food poisoning I'm pretty sure I met God.

"I'm telling you, it's usually around this time of year that the snow storms are at their peak." I'm mumbling some kind of string of consciousness to Coley as we shoulder our way into the bathroom, more to hear myself talk than to say anything at all. "And yeah, the symbolism of filming the scene on the shortest night of the year just really elevates the messaging, don't you think? Of course, not everyone is going to get it but for the people who do-"

Meaningless words trail off into bitter ends as I instead watch Erras be, well, so absolutely themselves. They've always been a visceral kind of captivating, carefully tailored chaos that turns beauty into something bites instead of soothes. With Lovie at their side, the two are almost impossible to look away from.

I've such an unbearable fondness for those who cannot help but perform.

"If it gets to be too much, tell me. None of that pretending you're having fun shit." I lean toward Coley as I speak, the whisper teetering on the edge of scolding. Coley's infinitely fucking talented and it drives me crazy because I can't help the way it makes me worry every genuine moment we have is at least a little bit of a lie. Paranoia isn't pretty, but I can't compartmentalize the fears that make too much sense.

I'm pulled out of that particular thought spiral by Farah spitting venom in Hanna’s general vicinity. Having them in close proximity is only nominally better than Ignis and Kaine and that’s only because Farah can at least get some punches in. And, really, the whole thing just gives me indigestion - ”You might find her more tolerable drunk, Far.” I wink at her as I settle against the far wall, a feeble attempt to keep any more gasoline from being thrown onto fiendfyre, ”Surely, we can all be pleasant long enough to actually have some fun?”

I think to the other personalities warming this cramped bathroom and resign to hoping for the best.

Pippa, bless her heart, is by my side in the next moment. I’ve always adored her fraying sunshine; it’s impressive she’s managed to cling to that stubborn optimism all these years - even if it does threaten to stray into delusion on occasion. Through those eyes the world is full of actual fucking magic - and it’s a silent agreement between me and a few others in our class that it’s worth protecting that for as long as we can.

Though perhaps we’ve done a bit too well - ”You’ve never had a drink?” The chuckle is warm and incredulous, as are my fingers as I fidget with a tucked-in edge of her collar. A bit of neurosis would do her well and I’m a stickler for the little details, ”That makes you the guest of honor, yeah?” I look back at everyone, pleading.

Be kind to fragile things.

We all remember that talent show, right?

”Get your drink, then we’ll figure out how to set the scene.” I lean in, a little more full of the manic fervor I only feel looking through a camera lens, ”And remember - you asked for this.”

[mat]

( c o l e y. )
snowspire

Imagery was the first concept I had to learn to produce any scene. Everything needs to serve a purpose, from props to backdrops. It wasn't until later that I realized that you and me? We're just props. To be clear, I'm not objectifying my friends here. Observations are meant to be made. At this moment, our group is a bevy of black swans crossing a river after getting turned away for the bajillionth time. Farah's the mother, our trigger to move on and forget whatever hell we're going through this time. For better or for worse, the rest of us follow. If there's one thing we'll always have, it's each other (so the cliche goes, anyway.)

Alain talking about the scene as we cross the cobbled channel to the bathroom. Every word he says falls like honey dangling from the comb. He just gets it, you know? Gets me more than anyone else out here. Outside, snow and cold air clash with the school's furnace smoke. The smoke, the lack of clarity, the intensity of the moment. I finish his train of thought as the excitement for symbolism and imagery fades into echoed steps through tile floors and walls. "The ones that get it, get it. And the ones that don't? Don't."

The rules (or recommendations, because we all know how these things end) come as soon as we get in. Alain warns me that he'll turn the party bus around if I'm getting overwhelmed. I nod, agreeing to do just that if it gets to be too much. I've been getting better at these kinds of things. It's easier to relax when people like Farah and Hanna carry a mountain's worth of tension whenever their in one another's vicinity. I roll my shoulders back to keep them from getting stiff. I think Alain doubts that I can do it– make my own boundaries and limits, I mean. We're like a compound word. Like heartstrings! We work well together, but we can survive on our own. I'm not dependent on him.

Pippa pokes around and asks if she can get some help from Alain.

Heartstrings tug and tear, those delicate things. Pippa takes my heart and leaves the strings to play a sad song in the wake.

I want to tell her to fuck off, but she's already got the room invested. Alain is calling her a guest of honor and wants everyone to play along. I do, for the sake of it being Pippa of all people. I hate her at the moment, don't get it twisted, but tomorrow, I'll be over it all. Munroe once told me that holding grudges is bad for my mental health. "Finding a way to blame everyone else for your feelings is exhausting, Coley," she told me, "Wouldn't it be easier to just let it go?"

Yeah, yeah, just let it go. I charge up a laugh and give them some space. This is me, letting it go! I hope that photo is everything you want, Pippa! The scrapbook, the time capsule, whatever you want it to be!

My body runs warm, especially when I don't have someone by my side. It's a problem he usually fixes. I check back to the other side of the bathroom for a half second to make sure it wasn't just some plan to get away from me. From the looks of it, it's not (yet.) Bronte's with them now, keeping their eyes neat on the project being built on one side of the bathroom.

I don't know who to stand beside once Alain is out of the picture. Erras and Lovie, maybe, but being around them both can be more lonely than comforting. Hanna and Farah… yeah, if I want to get shot. I'd even take Kaine at this point, too. Wasn't he following behind the rest of us?

Why is it so damn easy to feel alone in a room full of people? I click my tongue and speak in my best Capitol accent, cursive and posh, to distract myself from the anxiety trying to strip me for parts. I'd rather risk getting shot. "Now now, the bathroom is vintage for academy royalty such as ourselves. Vintage is in style, no?" If I'm lucky, I'm right and Erras won't correct me on that.

My glimpse toward Alain is quick, just to make sure he's still there. I'm already pretending. Not to have fun, though. Just to fit in. Just for you.

elegant