the rarest bird | romily & mackenzie {94th}

[d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris]

— R O M I L Y —

It will never be easy.

The silence between them is the kind of quiet that spreads, a ceaseless push and pull that extends out from them like a ripple effect. It goes on so much further than just the two of them seated there on that ever-changing couch. There's a moment while she's watching the television screen that she's certain Seven's chances for a tribute finally returning home have been dashed, that the girl from One's blade will fell the boy where he stands and the rivalry will live on once more in favor of the careers. And then Torian does the impossible, and suddenly they're left with that terrible feeling of hope. The glimmer of gold dies with the light that fades from Larissa Le Roux's lifeless body.

This late into the Games, the only souls remaining on the seventh floor are Mackenzie and Romily, and the Avoxes that come and go in neat little lines. She waits in the aftermath of devastation with bated breath, not daring to break her gaze away for fear that some other danger might swoop in and crush their dreams right as the bloom breaks through the earth.

It's strange to feel as if it is no longer a salted wasteland; like there is a reason to tend to it again, that some good can come of this terrible and cruel fate that has been thrust upon them midway through their lives. She is a reaper of souls, and the victor sitting by her side is the caretaker of them. It is rare that they walk away from this experience not feeling like failures. "So, we have a finale to prepare for."

To her, it's the simplest way to call attention to their new reality. These next few hours will determine the side that the metaphorical coin lands on, and just how much the odds separate Torian from his final foe in the end. As much as she wishes that she could allow him to rest on his laurels, she knows that there is far more than just grit and determination that decides who wins and who loses in the arena.

She will play her part in this if it means aiding her home home district; regardless of her current situation, the knowledge that she fled from Seven and chose the Capitol above all, she cannot help the way that every fiber of her being tells her to contribute. To try with the best of her abilities to assure that Mackenzie does not end up with another ghost to haunt him. These last few nights, she finds herself seeing the omens, too.

It feels natural, the way she reaches out her hand and folds it so cautiously over his own, a warm and gentle embrace. The stars and the moon shine dimly through the bay windows, illuminating them in a soft and sacred glow, but it feels almost as if a new dawn has arisen. "I want you to know that I'm here with you, right by your side." She gives him a smile without teeth, a determined nod in his direction, her hand squeezing around his encouragingly. "Every step of the way."

[dars]

—
 M A C K E N Z I E
—

Every part of this was a familiar feeling for Mackenzie. He'd sat in this spot on this couch before. He'd heard the words being spoken on the television time and time again. "District Seven makes its fourth finale since mentor Mackenzie's win 15 years ago-" the numbers grew larger and larger each time they mentioned them, but he was too wise at this point to think the end would be any different this time than the others.

He was admittedly more hopeful than he had been in this situation in the past- at least Torian wasn't the last thing standing between some hellbent career and the glory they'd hungered for all their life. Although, Krueger Gamble wasn't turning out to be much better of a substitution. He reminded Mackenzie of himself in the Games, in fact: doing what it took to survive, but perhaps allowing himself to be a bit too okay with it in the moment to ever be okay with it if he managed to live longer than the week. And as another layer of confusion for fun, Mackenzie had to hope he never got to find that out. Torian deserved this, too. Just because he was the smaller option didn't mean he wasn't perfectly capable- he'd slain lions, so a bull should have been perfectly handled if he was careful.

"So, we have a finale to prepare for," Romily said. In a time when he had no one else, Mackenzie had reluctantly begun to see his escort- a person paid money to follow him- as his closest friend. She was perfectly enjoyable to be around, forever a citizen of the District she tried to erase herself from, but the reluctance had nothing to do with how she behaved, or even what her ambitions were. She hadn't chosen to be a Games Escort, but she had been perfectly okay with sneaking away to the Capitol and becoming one of them until she'd been caught.

That was years ago though, and Romily seemed resigned to accepting what the Capitol decided to make of her, just as Mackenzie had. They were just two people doomed: one to harvest the souls of the soon-to-die, the other to lie and tell them there was another option. Watching the coverage of Torian's fight, of the moment Larissa's knife broke and she was forced to retreat, and the quick, merciful strike to her head that ended it, he wondered how many other floors on this exact building were furious. He wouldn't have been surprised if they were the only two people in the Capitol who would've preferred this.

Too bad for them, he supposed.

Romily took his hand in her own.

"I want you to know that I'm here with you, right by your side. Every step of the way."

He believed her. And he appreciated having someone who understood- truly understood- the burden of saving people. His ex had obviously fought for those she cared about- a whopping two or three of the 34 tributes who needed her. But Mackenzie could honestly say that he had tried every single year to get one of his kids out.

He didn't even want to entertain the notion that Torian might actually live, lest he jinx it.

"I know. I appreciate you for that. Still gotta get him through tomorrow before we celebrate, though," he said, standing. This meant another night of networking, of convincing Capitolites just how marketable Torian could be as a victor. Usually, he liked to spend finale days so stoned that it didn't even hurt that much when the winner was yet again someone from somewhere else. He'd have to be clear-minded and ready all day tomorrow, constantly staying updated on the monitors, taking every single call, replying to every single email, attending every meeting.

He couldn't just haul back to Seven with all of his product, though- no need to risk it with all of the border issues that'd been showing up since the rose plague. Violet was still back home, staying with Mackenzie's mother until his return. He wanted that to be as soon as possible. Obviously, he could've just thrown it all out, but Capitol product was some quality stuff.

"Wanna come up to the roof with me?"

He patted his front pocket and raised an eyebrow. Romily probably had a million things to prepare for herself, but he'd even smiled when he asked. That was practically as enthusiastic as he could've been in the moment, between the anxiety and the refusal to allow himself to be excited.

[d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris]

— R O M I L Y —

His smile was like the sun passing through winter clouds. It warmed her, and it made her sad to recognize how long it had been since she last saw it. She couldn't help but to stare at the dark haired victor, for fear that his light would soon evade her again. Mackenzie's happiness meant a great deal to her, in the way that she felt so partially responsible for the endless tragedies that have since followed his own. Each year he was forced to return to this place, to watch echoes of himself on a television screen, enduring the very same torture he survived.

She drew the names, spoke the death sentences; her daily 9-to-5 job was witnessing all the horrors that made the man in front of her who he was today. And she felt culpable as much as she felt powerless, a prisoner in her own right, a girl who ran from her home and walked right into a cruel, unforgiving life. The one bright side was Mackenzie, the only one of Seven's two victors that she felt any sort of connection with, her constant in a sea of ever-changing faces and names and untimely ends. He could make her laugh on the worst days, the days that she knew deep down were tenfold as awful for himself.

He had this rare quality where he could dim his suffering to the point it seemed to turn to glass, an invisible pain dancing in his hazel gaze. If he did not wish for someone to know his heart was bleeding, they would never think to notice the blossom of red over his chest, the wince and twist of his features. He was a forest as much as he was a man; she had no inclination to believe that she would ever be able to chart the entirety of him. But she was certain of his humor, and his quiet kindness, the way he was an incredible father to his daughter, never demeaning her ceaseless questions and always providing her with fair, sound answers. He listened with the intent thoughtfulness of a parent who was a child who had been ignored, abandoned, forgotten. She did not ask for the puzzle pieces he was not comfortable placing on the table.

But she saw his framework clear as day, fair of face and melancholic of soul. The idea that the nightmare of continuously watching children fail where he succeeded might be over was enough to keep her hope burning like a candle inside her chest, warming her cheeks and her eyes and the smile she returns to him. He deserved to feel some semblance at peace, at least for one half of the year before the inevitable would return. She wanted him to experience victory on this side of the ordeal, to be able to believe and trust when she told him things like, 'You are an incredible mentor, Mackenzie. You put every ounce of your soul into helping these kids.'

If she had any say in this, if she could sink her claws into the threads of reality and create her own tapestry, she would see that the cemetery that haunted Mackenzie would receive only one more tombstone. Not Torian, she thought to herself, you cannot take this one from us. He patted his chest, revealing the tin of joints hidden within the layers of his flannel. She extended a hand, already rising to her feet and moving to the end of the couch closest to the door, looking back at him.

"You don't have to ask me twice," she responded with a hint of mischief, grateful that he sought her company instead of isolating himself. If he called, she would always come to his side. "And if we're going to be walking around like brain-dead zombies tomorrow, we might as well get the practice." She had no illusions that tomorrow would not require the full depth of their attention, but there was no harm in letting the night be one of calm and lightheartedness. They were allowed to shrug off these heavy burdens, at least for now. There was nothing more they could do for Torian at this hour.

They made their ascension to the rooftop, hand in hand, until finally the door swung open and she left his grasp just quickly enough to walk forward, raising her palms up to the starry sky. The moon was dimmed behind the sheen of a thousand city lights, and yet she felt its presence more strongly than anything. Fresh air was a rare commodity in the Capitol, and so was good company. She glanced over her shoulder, pressing down all anxious thoughts or questions, smirking playfully at Mackenzie. The neon hues acted as a halo behind her.

"Just so you know, I'll be treating us to room service once we're done up here, so I hope you're prepared for a Romily Sorokin-certified all-nighter. And once we reach the witching hour, we have to talk about all our gooey-mushy feelings!"

[dars]

—
 M A C K E N Z I E
—

Though he always missed the stars when he was away, the one cool thing about the Capitol was that every single night, there was something new to see. A new attraction, or a new building- tonight, it was a large water fountain out in the bay, geysers of water arcing majestically through the air. Romily was usually the person Mackenzie called when he accidentally locked himself up here, but she seemed more eager to smoke right now than he did, so he accepted the role of responsible member of the party and wedged a loose brick into the door's frame to keep it open.

"Just so you know, I'll be treating us to room service once we're done up here, so I hope you're prepared for a Romily Sorokin-certified all-nighter."

He winced, his age showing at the idea of staying up all night on purpose. It still happened sometimes when the dreams were bad enough, sure, but that wasn't ever a choice. Mackenzie thought, maybe, if it wasn't for Violet, he'd sleep an entire year if he could. He collapsed onto a plush sofa with a groan.

"And once we reach the witching hour, we have to talk about all our gooey-mushy feelings."

It was enough to draw out another smile from him. He gently patted the space beside him and in a low voice, said, "No need to wait 'til then. Do you have gooey-mushy feelings you need to talk about?" He raised a suspicious eyebrow before dissolving himself into a chuckle.

"No, okay, seriously: what was the plan coming here? Originally, I mean."

He'd thought it over a million times, and the way Mackenzie saw it, Romily's answer would be the deciding factor in how he saw her from then on. Leaving Seven was something most people there talked about doing all their lives and knew wasn't ever realistic. But then recently, it suddenly was a possibility. A difficult one, but one that existed. If Romily had only waited a couple more years for the rose plague to die down, she would've probably been more than bright enough to get into some education program somewhere in a nice neighborhood near the City Circle. But she'd risked doing it in a time when it was illegal instead. Was she running away from something, or toward? Was it an escape? Was Seven simply too small for her big dreams? Was it for her safety- for the safety of the family she might or might not one day decide to have with someone? Or had she spent enough time being an ant suffering in the heat, and decided she wanted a turn being the one holding the magnifying glass? If she hadn't ever been caught, would she have been the kind of person to buy him like some of the others were?

Ah. Shit. That one hadn't come up in a while. He made a note to bring it up with his therapist on his next visit.

He sparked up and exhaled a cloud of smoke, passing to Romily but then keeping her from grabbing it until she answered.

[d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris]

— R O M I L Y —

The neon lights against his skin are their own kind of magic, Romily decides. Across the street, skyscrapers and flashing billboards bathe them in both shadow and an artificial glow.

She stares at the rotating images for a short moment, pulling smoke into her lungs and feeling a sense of calm spread out from her chest and into her limbs, looking up at the models without fault and advertised items that she could only describe as wants. As hard as she has fought to be a part of this extravagant world, criminal record and shackles be damned, there are still days when she battles with the belief that she might never belong. At all times, she feels as if only one half of herself can exist here. Stumbling on one leg toward all her dreams.

The other half waits for her in the flower fields of Seven. Sitting cross-legged and patient, staring at the wild daisies and lilies that she once swore to herself she would never miss.

Girl who made a deal
with the devils in the wood.

Just what has she sacrificed?

But then she turns to face Mackenzie, returning the joint to his two-finger grasp, and she finds herself a little awestruck by him. Fuchsia light catches in his dark curls, pitch black shadows painting lines along the sharp curves of his chiseled jaw. Not that she has ever made the fact known to him, but she has always found the man attractive. Be it tousled hair and tired eyes, sitting in the open cart at the end of a speeding train, exhaling smoke from parted lips. Or neatly styled and crisply dressed on center stage, giving an interview under the radiance of a spotlight. Mackenzie has always carried some essence of mysticism in him. Melancholy, too.

The night suits him handsomely, she thinks. He smiles and so does she, and he pats the spot beside him and she joins him without hesitation. Now, she notices the ornate fountain off in the distance for the first time, spiraling arcs of neon-stained water dancing in the sky without any knowledge that in the coming weeks they will be inevitably replaced by a new passing fancy. He's more familiar with the rooftop than she, that much she's certain, but she finds herself grateful for the little things he chooses to share with her. The seat is comfortable and the view is so breathtaking that it finally manages to break his spell. Her gaze shifts from him, leaning forward just a little to see further over the edge, down at all the strange little people living their strange little lives.

They banter back and forth for a moment, and he matches her playful energy. "No need to wait 'til then. Do you have gooey-mushy feelings you need to talk about?" His eyebrow rises in sync with her nervous energy, now realizing just what exactly she's signed herself up for, but then his laughter rings like a bell and quiets her worry. She feels safe beside him, peaceful and calm, due in part to both the weed and his steady presence. His voice is a low, gentle sound, a song spoken. "No, okay, seriously: what was the plan coming here? Originally, I mean."

She doesn't laugh, but her expression is one of amusement. It's a difficult thing to put into words. "I don't know, I guess I've just always looked at faraway places and thought, that's where I'll end up." She makes a mock gasp, reaching to take the smoking joint from his fingers. "Has no one told you that this is going to be my last year as Escort? There's a space program calling to me." She approaches the joint but he retreats, watching her with an amused smile as she takes the bait one too many times. A ceaseless game of cat and mouse. She hears him loud and clear.

"Okay, okay." She inhales and closes her eyes, taking a moment to sum up in words a want that had existed in her for years. Honestly, she's not quite sure exactly when she decided that she wanted to live in the Capitol over the districts, but she remembers being a girl and finding herself fascinated by stories of the shining, prestigious centerpiece of their nation. No hunger, no sorrow, all of the horrors were so easily obscured behind thin sheets of glass back then. Now she can see them more clearly, and yet she remains.

"Same as most of us in Seven, I didn't really have much growing up. And I was just prideful and foolish enough to convince myself I could have things that weren't offered to me. The easiest answer is that I wanted to experience life on this side of the fence, even if that meant quite literally sneaking through." She glances over her shoulder, still cautious to speak about a crime she has already been convicted for. The wind blows peacefully, dark strands flying in the breeze. "But if you want the full story, a detailed recount of how I snuck in, two things have to happen."

She holds out her impatient hand, fingers curled and waiting, a warm smile playing on her lips. "You need to hand me that joint before I break your hand, and we have to make a blood pact. Or at least agree that what is said on the roof stays on the roof. Deal?"