foreign formalities { t / t } 94th vt

[marcellus rhodes 11b arc]

You ever have a conversation with your mom and she asks like, the most stupid shit ever? Like if you have “x” thing to do tomorrow as if she doesn’t know your schedule anyway - come on, mom. They should know better but the questions still flow as if it’s just general knowledge. Momma asked if I was free now. Like the new victor meant that I was essentially released from my Capitol duties, and god damn, she’s a fuckin’ brick.

I told her ”no, I’m still required to go to events,” and her secondary question was that if she could join the dinner for the victory tour. An exasperated sigh escaped my mouth as I rolled my eyes at her - she is so self-centered. Guess I know where I got it from, at least.

Tonight was the dinner to welcome Torian into the victors circle. It was expected he’d receive a few sour faces entering. He did kill Lara, which was natural to provide him a few unhappy faces. But I’ve been unfortunate enough to receive that energy - through Niko’s family, to Dyno’s sister, people fuckin’ hate me for being alive. It’s going to suck. While I’ve never been the guy of social refuge, I want to help him out. For once, I’m not sporting that annoying ass pink Janie’s been obsessed with. Tonight is a white, which seems too pure for the event leading this dinner. District Eight hasn’t ever been a phenomenal party host, they seem to be trying their best.

The waitresses offer glasses of wines, but god, I don’t need any alcohol. Tonight would be so much fuckin worse with any alcohol in my veins, how much pressure there is to look good. For now, a fizzzier drink does enough to suffice. District Eight was a big fan of maroons and purples, various velvety type substances after inheriting luxury as an industry. It made the place feel royal, eloquent, despite the grimey streets that lay behind it. I’m not one for theatrics, but I buy in to the kindness they ask for me to provide for now. He has to be on edge, he’s just a kid, man. I would’ve gone insane if I was his age.

Kid’s fuckin brave, I’ll give him that.

He soon comes around the corner, and I have to try and put on some sort of face. Torian may be able to see right through it, but we’re big news for each others’ districts. ”Hey,” I start, but not really sure where to take my introduction. This wasn’t in the cue cards Rafael gave - Rafael isn’t even here to whip me into shape anyway. Who the hell is gonna tell me what to do now? My hand reaches out, offering a handshake. I don’t know what to do, man. I just don’t want to fuck this up for him. ”Uh, welcome to Eight. I guess.” It’s not a special place, clearly.

Python

[Python]

Torian couldn't count how many scheduled dinners he had. District Eight was bound to be challenging because Lara was from here, and he had killed her. There was still something there to process, ending a life with his own two hands. More than once, but Lara had been the first, and he remembered feeling disgusted, and then feeling nothing. Even now, he didn't miss her, which worried him. He was expected to have sympathy, and he did for her family. Nobody wanted to go through that. But she had died in the same moment Caspian did, and his priorities were admittedly elsewhere.

He didn't know what to expect from Theo. He was last year's victor, and he still remembered the gossip fresh on his tongue with his classmates. They always talked statistics and strategy because the teachers forced them to. Torian hadn't minded Theo as a person, but he admittedly knew little about his personality. He might've hated Torian for killing his mentee. He might not. Either way, they would be dining together.

Instinctively, he shook Theo's hand. His stylist had him sporting royal purple and gold, which were odd colors to see on himself in the mirror. He never wore stuff like this. "Thank you. It's uh, nice to meet you." He always wanted to introduce himself, but the entire country knew his name.

"I'm not good at small talk," he said, taking a seat. He had learned this the hard way during the tour. Forced to talk to so many strangers and remember so many names. He had forgotten plenty. "Eight seems cool though. It's very colorful. What do you guys do for fun?"

[marcellus rhodes 11b arc]

If it hadn’t been for the fact I starved myself following the tour, I would have been one fat motherfucker. Like the women that my momma used to play cards with. Would sit there and shoot the shit like the boys back in the BASE. Normally they talked shit about their coworkers - guess they were some fat bitches that helped with delivery. All the drama about who be hookin up with who and I silently gobbled that shit up, which makes me no better than the Capitolite news reporters.

I failed slightly this last year in terms of investment. I was too distant and wrapped up in Rafael’s crew - the safety they provided. The knowledge of the newest victor was minimal, which made it all harder to talk to him. I’m naturally guarded. With dad leaving and my supposed “friends” forcing me to volunteer for the damn Games - community never been a thing I’m used to. I am used to being blamed for things that aren’t even my fault - Niko, Johnny, even Dorothy. Not to say that Niko dying wasn’t very damn near by my own hands - but they blame me for not being good enough to land the final blow. He had to do it himself, which made me weak, I guess.

Regardless, I know what it feels like. The guilt I felt entering eleven and twelve felt like daggers in my shoulder. I also know what it feels like for the mentors to be dickwads when facing the “reason” their tribute didn’t come home.

I don’t need to name him, but you know who.

Eight had put on some more color for the event, earthier tones that gave the stop more of a relative feel. Guess it’s to mirror the tones of the arena, light tones of gold lining banners and tablecloths. It rivaled my pink and white easily; my party looked like a goddamn Valentine’s gift card.

Torian took my hand and shook it, wearing a royal purple and gold. He returned the formalities, both of us skipping the names, because who doesn’t know them right? Little guy states he’s not good at small talk, and fuck man, because sometimes that’s all I can do beside talk shit, just like my momma. He asks what all we do fun, noting how colorful the district is.

Colorful is an interesting word, given the smog that felt never lifted from the streets where I grew up. But what the hell do we do for fun? Eight as an industry doesn’t grant a lot of exciting opportunities. There’s a fuckton of quilting clubs, but something tells me Torian doesn’t want to be sitting on porches and knitting with the retirement home.

”Well,” I can only think of what I used to do - game, but god I wish I could still do it. Don’t know if the league would permit victors playing. ”I used to be on the exy team here - spent a lot of time with the boy…” I fade off, reminding myself that the boys I used to play with ain’t ever going to look me in the eyes again. ”With a lot of my teammates there. Nothin’ special, crappy old practice field that has better use as a cemetery.” The place was pretty depressing, with old, rusting chain fences and overgrowing weeds. If I were confident I could throw him on the field to show a thing or two without killing him, I’d do it.

”Besides that, uh, I don’t know. Kids play in the streets or learn how to sew. The new industry hasn’t fully set in yet,” which still confuses me, as I don’t know how that shit is supposed to find a home here. ”A, uh, friend of mine takes me rollerblading sometimes. Some old ass rink that’s got glow-in-the-dark stuff. It’s not great, but it used to be a nice hangout for me.” Not many things are nice anymore, given I’m essentially a celebrity in Eight now. Walking into any teen-hangout spot that interested me would quickly ostracize me.