Tonight, We Are Young // [Victors]

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

for what it's worth, I have a slow disease that sucked me dry... I always aim to please
but I nearly died

The Opening Ceremonies felt like a joke. A cruel joke – just the sort the Capitol liked to play. It had been one thing to put the lives of two teenagers into his palms. It was quite another to see their faces on banners, to see his own flash on the jumbotron. It was a celebration of death, he finally realized. Twenty-four to one were not good odds, and it was even worse if you happened to be the one.

The long, slow fall from the Reaping to the Capitol had brought back the tremors. He’d finally found the right combination to keep them away. It involved quite a lot of food (which staved off the craving for morphling), fire burning constantly in his house, and time spent in his expansive backyard with an old stud he’d bought a few months after returning to Ten. Whicker was absolutely useless in every way imaginable, except that he brought Mace peace. His eyes, big and reflective, had a softness and understanding he found nowhere else.

He missed Whicker from the moment he stepped onto the train. He thought about the horse constantly, solely. He thought not at all about the boy and girl in the cars down from him, about the Capitol where he had met his brothers. It was one of the last places he ever wanted to go (second only to anywhere cold), and yet he went, without any outward protestation. He was numb through the ceremonies, those hollow eyes gazing out over the crowd. It was easy to be absent, because no one really cared about him anymore. All the talk was about the new tributes, the new victims.

The party after was a different story. Reporters and Capitolites alike wanted their fifteen seconds with each of the Victors. If he looked bored, well, at least he was starting to affect the Capitol mantra. Mace managed to keep his fists at his sides, but that was as far as he would go. He said not more than five words to anyone, and when the trembling began to move up his arms, he elbowed his way through the crowd until he found them, the one group of people who would not ask him for his predictions, or how he was doing – both equally infuriating questions. No, they would never subject each other to that sort of torture.

He couldn’t remember any of them asking him anything at all, or who had suggested that they leave, but they did. Through the ornate hallways and corridors they walked, Mace suckling at his beer, having squirreled away several other bottles into his pockets. He followed, because leading was too much work, and he didn’t care where he went, as long as it was away from the crowds. Another right, left, and while the others walked past an open door, Mace came to a standstill.

The room was perhaps shabbier than most in the house, but it was clearly often used – and loved. Tables arrayed from the center, some wooden for cards, other with their bellies open for billiards. And one, near the pack, that had a net slung across the center. This room, this oasis, was exactly what they needed: a distraction.

Mace took the lip of the bottle out of his mouth long enough to call out, “Arbor!” before he stepped through the double doors. What to do, where to start – these were questions someone else in the group of Victors could handle. He’d gotten them this far, and that was really Mace’s modus operandi now. Just get far enough to find something else worth living for, even if it’s just for a few hours, a few days. He wasn’t even sure how to play all of the games set up in the room, but he felt absolutely positive that with enough beer, they would all be absolutely hilarious.

banner credit: jurate
lyrics:placebo for what it's worth

[WT]

Every year, it got harder.

Some things eased, of course. The memory of pain fades, and as desperately as Aranica clung to her memories, sometimes forgetting was a blessing. Although the nightmares were ceaseless and horrible, her waking hours were ruled less by the past and more by the present these days, memories of her friends and siblings easing into a dull ache that occasionally flared rather than a gaping wound that faded only when she beat herself into oblivion. The discomfort of having her left arm removed for its yearly retouch, a necessary procedure that left her fumbling for a few days every time but ensured that it didn't fail in the District, was even easier to get used to.

But other things. The names and faces of the fallen tributes. The clouds' cruel, constant needling. The incessant attention from Capitolites. All of it built up into a weight that threatened to crush her, and Games time was the worst—especially early, when everyone was alive and there was still so much hope and desperation in the air that she could all but choke on it.

So when one of the others touched the coal-coloured sleeve of her real arm and motioned away, she asked no questions. She followed not only willingly but gratefully, willing to do anything to get away from this travesty of bright colours and dying dreams. Whether her rescuers were people she knew did not matter, as long as they gave her an out; the only difference it made was that she stayed with them instead of splitting off and hiding away.

How they made it to someone's house, Ara had no idea. At first she assumed that one of the victors knew who it belonged to, but as they wandered through the vast hallways, it became clear that none of them knew where they were. In the end, it didn't matter. They were away from the Ceremonies, away from the glamour and the horror and the tributes and the stylists and the Capitolites, away from everything horrible about the life they had been collectively forced into. That they had gotten away by getting lost was not important. In a way, it was even comforting. As long as they were lost, they had no responsibilities, no duties to the tributes who would soon die. It was a selfish way of thinking, but one that she had to indulge in sometimes, lest she go mad.

In one hand sat a bottle of red wine that Aranica had snagged on her way past a dining room table. For the most part she ignored it, but occasionally she took a sip, less for the taste or even the alcohol and more for the social factor. Rarely one to enjoy solitude, Ara couldn't help but feel odd when those around her were drinking something and she wasn't. It was just awkward, and she was already uncomfortable enough, between the Ceremonies and the skirt Bellezze had stuffed her in and... well, life in general.

One of the others chose that opportune moment to pull her from her downward spiral of thoughts by speaking. Although Mace had called Arbor, Aranica also responded, retracing her steps so she could peer around the larger victor and into the room. "Damn," she murmured appreciatively, sliding around him so that she could stand in the room. Like every other part of the house, it was decadent to the extreme—painted walls, rugs shot with gold, flawless shining furniture. Unlike the other rooms she had seen, which had mostly consisted of spare bedrooms, it seemed completely useless to the function of a house. Instead of providing places for sitting, sleeping, or other day-to-day life functions, it seemed to have been constructed for the sole purpose of entertainment. She only recognized the decks of cards splayed across a few of the tables (Ara had been convinced to gamble all of once, much to her opponents' excitement), but the rest had to be games of some type or another.

It was the ultimate display of Capitol indulgence, and she loved it.

Why are you so happy about this? The money it took to build this room could start a rebellion that could end these Games. Or feed the Districts, or send a tribute the cure for poison. Are you finally seeing the reason in our side, little rock? You were always ruthless, but are you heartless now, as well?

Fuck off. It was easier to ignore the clouds than usual. Why, she couldn't say—perhaps the wine, perhaps the company, perhaps her desperation to think about anything that wasn't the Games. Whatever the case, she was able to put on a not-entirely-forced smile and say, "Nice find, Mace," and then to run her hand along the edge of a card table in greeting with only the slightest twinge of guilt.

Slowly, almost cautiously, Aranica approached a table with poles stuck through the raised edges. Carved and painted human figures had been attached to the poles at various spots; the girl prodded one of them, causing it to spin but accomplishing little else. Her results at the green table a few steps away were not much better. Obviously, the numbered balls were meant to fall into the holes along the edges, but when Aranica picked up one of the long sticks and whacked a red ball, it only rolled a few inches. Frowning in concentration, she set the merlot by her foot and examined the curved end of the stick, wondering if there was a good way to hold is so she could hit the balls with that blue piece. "How do I use you?"

No idea. I just hit things, the humans figure out how to make me do it. You're Aranica? We've heard of you. Nice to meet you.

You too, stick.. Sighing a bit, Ara turned to see how the others were faring. Better, with any luck.


((Eep, fragmented. Sorry. I wanted to try and spur this forward.))

[Rosetta]

Lethe Turner
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It was all a blur. The short three months in between the day in the stables and the Reaping. A whirlwind of events, Eden right in the middle of the storm. The girl was beautiful. Each time she picked her up and touched the child’s soft, peach-colored skin, sparks went through her body and suddenly, she was hugging and kissing the child, holding her against the chest, begging her…

“Never leave me.”

Her mother was overjoyed. The tight-lipped smiles were gone, replaced by genuine grins and sighs of awe at the child, as if she’d never seen anything like it. Her father was the same way, his disappointment softened into wonder as Lethe presented her child. And all of her siblings loved Eden.

“Can I hold her, Lethe? Please, oh, please, let me hold her!”

“Look at her little hands! Look at them!”

“She’s beautiful!”

And Lethe loved her. Everything about her was perfect. Even her crying, becoming music to Lethe’s ears and an invitation to pick her up, rock her and sing soft lullabies her mother had taught her. And she was all Lethe’s. Eric still hung over her like a cloud, but Eden cleared the skies. All that mattered was she was Lethe’s child. And Lethe was her mother.

Mother.

What an extraordinary word. Lethe was a mother. To her, mother meant tucking in at night, the ever-present smell of cookies mingling with warm perfume, bedtime stories and songs. A mother meant love. And that was all Lethe wanted to offer to her child. She didn’t want Eden growing up knowing what her mother truly was, a monster. No, she needed to love Eden more than anything. She needed to shield Eden, protect her. She’d already brought Eden into this dangerous world and now she had to keep her as close as possible.

Which was why, when the Reapings came around, Lethe was reluctant. She’d have to leave. She was needed back at the Capitol and who knew how long she’d be gone. Her mother offered to keep Eden with her, safe and sound, but Lethe could already see her mother’s greedy fingers. She was going to raise Eden the same way she’d raised Lethe-trying to convince her she was normal, when she was everything but, until suddenly, she found she couldn’t look herself in the mirror. No, that would never happen to Eden. Eden, a Victor’s daughter, who had been condemned to an abnormal life from birth. And Lethe didn’t even know if Eden had the same “condition” as her. Again, the new motherly instinct she was developing kicked in, and Eden was soon bundled up in a blanket and asleep in Lethe’s lap on the quick train ride to the Capitol.

Just like the year before, Lethe spent the train ride alone. She didn’t want to look into the faces of the dead. She didn’t want to hear their voices for the last time, nor see the fear in their eyes. She didn’t want their horror creeping over her skin, clouding her vision so that even Eden couldn’t soothe her. She locked herself away from them, the horrible Mentor she was, unable to yet again face the past in new bodies. But, locking herself away posed new problems.

Perhaps it was the subtle rocking of the train that made her joints slow and sore, seizing up as she went to dress, stopping her from doing that, leaving her in her nightgown. Perhaps it was the covered up mirror that still hung over her like a cloud in the bathroom that kept her from sinking into a warm tub. Perhaps it was just Eden. Lethe couldn’t leave her alone, but Lethe, she couldn’t pick her up. Not on this train. This train, leading towards the thing she loathed most, stopped her. Horrible mother, she was. Could she protect Eden there? Care for Eden there? Anxiety wrapped her up, forcing sleeping pills down her throat to ensure restful nights on contrary to restless ones, until she was allowed to throw herself out into the clear air, to familiar flashing of cameras and shouting.

The tributes have arrived with the mentor…and a baby?

The trip into the Training Center, such a short journey, couldn’t have been longer. She could taste the speculation on her tongue, the shock, and suddenly, her cheeks burning, she couldn’t wait to get to her room and deposit Eden upon the bed, staring at the child, almost in horror. Something was wrong here. What happened to the feelings she had at home? The love.

She loved Eden, didn’t she?

And yet, the child seemed to burn in her arms.

She was closer to him, she felt it. That was probably it. How would he react? Would he be overjoyed at the sight or disgusted? Would he cast her and her child away, leaving them alone? Would she be forced to walk away, her shameful face downturned, holding the illegitimate child only she wanted?

All she wanted was for Eden to be wanted. She, Lethe, was loved too, but wanted? No. Who would want someone like her? Damaged goods like her? No one. She knew the looks she got. She knew what they thought. She was a hopeless case and now a shamed hopeless case. A mother. All she wanted was for her child to never face that, never feel the disappointed looks, the sorrowful stares, the pitying words cast upon her head. Not for Eden.

Lethe hardly had time to herself when she arrived. Instantly, people were rushing around her, thrusting clothes into her arms, brushing her hair, picking up Eden and saying they have a daycare and whatnot and she’d see Eden later.

“No, wait!” Lethe cried, but she was being forced into a dress for some dinner party tonight with the other Victors, her tangled hair brushed out, her nails painted and so on until she was deemed beautiful. Then, she was sent off to the Opening Ceremony, something she wasn’t too excited about. The Ceremony was just another way to parade the tributes around like pigs for slaughter. Dress them up pretty then send them to their deaths. Let them feel good about themselves before their blood is running red out of their bodies and you’re watching the light fade from their eyes. She was almost relieved when she was, on the arm of no one, gliding up the steps to the huge mansion for the party. Cameras flashed in her eyes, reporters called out to her, all inquiring about the child, which she ignored. She was lucky that she was now considering an older Victor and most of their attention was thrust upon the new one, Mace. Poor Victor.

Lethe was friendly with the other Victors, but at the same time, she wasn’t good friends with any of them, like some of them were. She only exchanged vague smiles with them as she took her seat and picked at her food. She’d lost her appetite. It seemed to take hours before the Victors around her were rising and she was following, an idea she wasn’t she who proposed, but an idea she liked. It wasn’t long, after weaving through the hallways, far from reporters’ prying eyes, they found a room to reside in.

Not as nice as the rest of the house, Lethe found calm air there. As the other Victors poked around the room, Lethe spied Aranica Petros from District 12 attempting to play pool. Having seen her older brothers play this game many times, Lethe giggled at Ara’s failed attempts and strode forward, feeling much more comfortable in this room. She took a pool stick and offered to Ara, “Watch, you do this.” Though lacking the skill of her brothers, Lethe bent down and shot the cue ball across the table, narrowing missing the six ball. With a small smile at Ara, she straightened up and turned around and asked to the open air, “So, you guys wanna do something?”[/color][/blockquote][/size]