under the {r a d a r} // python

[semper]

It was an unusually cool day for the tail end of summer. Before you left Ender’s house you pulled on your sweatshirt (it was so thin that it hardly kept the cold off of your skin) and a pair of holey jeans, leaving behind socks and shoes as you usually did. The soles of your feet were hardened with callouses and so you had no need for any type of shoe, and if it snowed you simply didn’t go outside so you never had to fear the threat of frostbite. You were sick of the cold, too, after having lived in an alley for almost half a decade. It was much easier to curl up on the cement when it was still radiating warmth as opposed to when it made you shiver all night and kept you from sleeping. You tossed a glance back at the bare bed behind you – all the blankets and pillows were underneath the bed and on the floor in a nest-like style, just like how you had slept in the alley. The floorboards were never cold and you loved it. In fact, you loved every aspect about that old house no matter how squeaky or musky it was; it was your home now, all courtesy of Ender and his seemingly endless hospitality.

He disappeared, though, and so did Q. You weren’t too sure why but you suspected they had been taken to the Detention Center. Neither of them belonged behind bars but there was nothing you could do unless you wanted to end up in a cell next to them. All you could really do was eagerly await their return and mess around with Autumn or someone (maybe even take a few extra doses of drugs or drink a few more bottles of whiskey) in the meantime. Today, however, you were curious to venture down to the district square and see what festivities were awaiting the new victor of your district: Opal Shore. People were undoubtedly excited about her victory and you were, too; she was a lovely person by the looks of it and you thought she deserved the crown. A biased opinion, though. She was from your home district and everyone rooted for their home tributes so it was only right that you pulled for her. The only downfall was that it was a bittersweet victory: Opal Shore returned home living and breathing, but Xanthus Grimm was resting (hopefully peacefully) in a tailored coffin to be slowly and respectfully lain in an appropriate grave. It must be hard, you thought, to be the sole survivor and have to accompany your dead district partner back home, particularly after having killed him yourself.

The crisp, cold wind bit right through your sweater and caused goose bumps to rise on your pale skin. It only prompted you to walk faster in order to stay warm so you reached the district square much more quickly, getting your blood to flow to the extremities and ward off the chilly air. The area was bustling with life: people were running this way and that, banners were being hung, screens hauled up iron towers, and you were fairly certain the Shore and Grimm families were lurking somewhere behind the scenes. The victor’s arrival was going to be televised, that you were certain about, and you knew that the upper folk of One would not want your marred face to be what the rest of Panem saw when their in-home projectors flickered to life for the mandatory broadcasting so you decided to hang back, away from the crowd. Your eye spotted a vacant bench outside of the bakery and it was close enough to hear what was going on but far enough away that you would not become a nuisance. You pulled the pair of beaten-up drumsticks from your back pocket – their permanent home – and set them on your lap after you sat down, keeping one hand on them protectively as you continued to watch what was going on around you.

so show me family
all the blood that i would bleed
i don’t know where i belong
i don’t know where i went wrong
but i can write a song

[/size][/color][/justify]

[Python]

It was in a white dress and silver heels that Pearl Millison escaped her mother’s critical gaze, slipping through the front door without voicing as much as an accidental peep. Ruby was so absorbed in the eldest daughter’s dress (turquoise, her favorite color, glistening brilliantly beside heavy bands of diamonds on her wrists to match the name Diamond Millison) that she would not notice the delicate frame scurrying away since her attire, make-up, and hair were already complete. Her mother was once again ecstatic about another victory for her “honorable district,” and even more thrilled about who the newest additions to victor village would be: the entire Shore family. Such a prosperous family of careers was more than welcome to the neighborhood in her mother’s eyes. She was already talking about the potential “perfect couples” that could arise if Pearl and her sister were to visit them and get acquainted with the boys. Needless to say, neither of them were excited about that.

Opal would be arriving within a few hours, and Pearl decided she wanted a head start - not for the sake of meeting her (as charming, beautiful, and inspirational as she was), but to breathe fresh air that was cleansed of cosmetic toxins and hairspray while her mother fussed obsessively over appearances and etiquette. The situation was almost identical to the return of Peridot Myler, when he became district one’s shining star two years prior. This time, however, there would be an entire family of careers moving into the neighborhood, rather than just a single victor. Mother was delighted, Diamond was intrigued, and Pearl was anxious. Such a large bundle of careers living in her neighborhood might provoke her mother into forcing her to spar with them. She wasn’t quite sure what she was more afraid of; embarrassing herself with her squeamish nature, or losing in a humiliating and painful fight to one of them.

Mother thought she knew everything about everyone, but Diamond was the educated one. She had the street smarts while Pearl could only regurgitate rumors. With all of the information the two of them had gathered, Pearl knew she had more information about the Shores than her mother did. Ruby actually believed that Opal was an honest, bloodthirsty career, like Diamond could be. That wasn’t true. Opal reminded Pearl of herself, only stronger. She was an inspiration, a beacon of hope for somebody like her. A girl whose passion was plants had claimed victory over such a brutal games, claiming four lives under her name. It made her realize that she wasn’t alone, but it also made her wonder; could she do the same if her name were to be pulled?

Her stomach told her no, but her brain said maybe.

The square was alive with activity and pulsing with every color of the rainbow. Citizens and careers were clustered together, waiting for that train to arrive so they could congratulate their new victor with celebratory screeches and cheers. A few of them, of course, would “boo” (the envious ones, no doubt), but their weak disapproval would be lost to the screams of Opal’s fans. Pearl knew she would be among those who smiled and clapped, as would Diamond and her mother. She couldn’t say the same for the Grimm family. That happened to be one part of this she had dreaded: seeing their expressions as Xanthus’ killer stepped onto that stage and made her mark permanent. She would be here forever, while Xanthus would be buried. His murderer would be immune to all wrath and vengeance. The plaguing thought made her squirm uncomfortably.

Determined to distance herself from the crowds until her family made an appearance, Pearl skirted her way around the outside and followed the aroma of baked goods until she found her favorite store. Her mouth watered at the smell of hot pastries, but she knew she was not supposed to eat until the event was over. Instead of submitting to temptation, she sighed and found a bench not far from the entrance. There was a boy already seated there, his face littered in scars that could make any child gasp in horror. Pearl knew better than to judge something so familiar. She glanced briefly at the tiny pink scars scattered across her palms, then approached him at an angle. ”Excuse me, do you mind if I sit with you?”

[/blockquote][/justify]

[semper]

everything that drowns me
makes me wanna fly
everything that kills me
makes me feel alive

You watched people pass you by, fully aware of the few that cast sideways glances at you. It was not a strange feeling to be scrutinized but, after a while, it did start to wear you down. Even with the comfort of the pair of drumsticks resting in your lap you felt a twinge of insecurity start to chip away at the base of your newly found confidence, letting old worries slowly seep through the cracked infrastructure. Every so often you cast your gaze down and dug your toes into the dirt, pretending as if you just simply did not see the more accomplished careers turn their nose up at you. You almost began to second guess your trip to the district square but why should you lock yourself away for the sake of others? Your mother did that to you in a futile attempt to save her social status and so-called “sanity,” and look what happened: you were nailed to the floor and watched your father be murdered. So, no, you weren’t going to become a cloister just because some people might want you to. You had every right to welcome home a new victor just as everyone else was gathering there to do – a marred face and mangled hands shouldn’t be a determining factor. You knew they judged you (unjustly, of course) but there was nothing you could do about that.

Your hand tightened its grip on the drumsticks (honestly they were more of a security item, and even the rusty nail in your pocket gave you just as much comfort) and you looked up to see no one around you. Most of everyone that had been there before you were all swarming around the stage and lights, doing last minute checks and making sure everything was in place. Not very many people were wandering around and it put a few of your anxieties to rest; you sank a little lower onto the bench and relaxed your posture, focusing more on digging into the dirt with your toes to occupy the time you were waiting.

A quiet and polite voice distracted you from your mindless activity and caused you to look up. A girl, perhaps a few years younger than you, stood clad in a flashy white dress and shoes that made her much taller than she probably really was. Unlike you she still had a somewhat childish look to her face, but it wasn’t to the degree that made you believe she was much, much younger. The style of the dress accented her small and slender body and all of a sudden you felt terribly underdressed in your holey and thin sweater and jeans. However, compared to the rest of your clothing tucked away rather untidily in your room, the clothes you had on were fairly presentable.

You offered up a quick smile, scooting over to provide her with more room. ”I don’t mind at all, no.” You waited for her to get herself situated before extending the least-scarred to her to shake; you kept your attention on her and the smile on your face, forcing back down the preemptive anxiety and thoughts that she was judging you. ”Name’s Ver. Pleasure to meet you, miss…?”

so show me family
all the blood that i would bleed
i don’t know where i belong
i don’t know where i went wrong
but i can write a song

[/color][/justify]

[Python]

The boy was kind enough to scoot over and offer his company. Glossed lips stretched into a gentle smile as she sat down next to him, far enough to avoid invading his personal space but close enough to grasp his extended hand and shake it. His name was Ver; short and simple. She briefly wondered if it was a nickname of some sort. The Millisons never liked nicknames, not unless it glorified some aspect of their reputation. ”Pleasure to meet you, miss…?” The manners of an upper class citizen seeped through every fiber of her being, and she was quick to respond politely, forgetting that there was no need to be so proper. This was merely a casual conversation, after all. ”Millison,” she said, then bit her lip upon realizing her mistake. He would want to know her first name, of course.

”Pearl Millison,” she corrected with a nervous smile. Revealing her full name always begged the question: would he recognize her identity? Careers were well aware of her mother’s victory despite how ancient it felt. Names like Topaz Ross, Peridot Myler and now Opal Shore were being tossed left and right throughout the proud district, but occasionally there would be those who recalled the name Millison, since Ruby Millison was still alive in victor village with a husband, a jewelry company and two career daughters. Diamond, of course, was much more popular than she was. She was strong-willed, feisty, and dangerous, just like mother had always dreamed she would be. Pearl was much more tender - not an admirable career quality - and timid, so it was only natural that she remain low on the food chain compared to the rest of the esteemed careers.

Shouts could be heard above the loud hum of the crowds. Opal’s train was closer, and more bodies were added to the mix of colors. Such a mold of different shades of every color would look like chaos on a painting palette, she thought. Not that she did much painting compared to drawing. She was practicing, and gradually improving her talents with every stroke of the brush. One day she hoped to capture moments like this, where every smiling face was beaming in the district square and sharing laughs with friends. It was the complete opposite of the reaping, when everyone was uptight and unpleasant.

She tapped manicured fingernails over her bare knee and looked at Ver again. She had never been very good at holding conversations. ”Are you excited?” she asked. It felt like a silly question; everybody should be excited for the return of another victor, other than those who mourned and envied. Unless Ver was not the Games-crazed type of citizen? Although there were few she knew of other than herself, they existed somewhere. He could be one of them, and she wouldn‘t blame him if he was. ”About Opal, I mean.”

[/blockquote][/justify]

[semper]

everything that drowns me
makes me wanna fly
everything that kills me
makes me feel alive

Millison. You knew that name all too well and there really wasn’t any way you could forget it. Pearl’s mother won the Hunger Games quite a while ago and it made your mother smolder with envy, and every time she said the name of the victor it rolled roughly off her tongue, soaking in venom. She, herself, would never want to enter the games, but she was bound and determined to turn you into the Career she never was. It was the reason she beat you into submission and ordered you around in that dark and snappy tone, forced you to sit up straight so as to not lose intimidating posture, and scolded you for “putting to shame” the Fontem name. She often had compared you to the Millison daughters, mumbling and groaning about how you weren’t as strong as them, or how they never put their mother through the same stresses you did to her. It broke you on the inside – being scrutinized to the standard of a victor’s child was terribly unfair, you thought, and so you would always shrink away whenever your mother started winding up for another jealousy-filled rant. She wanted the fame, she wanted the glory, she wanted the fortunes, not me. You were content as a nobody, paradiddling and rim shotting away on the bottom of a five gallon bucket , showing off your bad test scores because it meant there were more things to learn and it made you excited. You wanted nothing to do with the games or the Capitol and you certainly did not want to steal another person’s life – your mother had stolen yours and you would be damned to take another.

You tried to not let the friendly smile slip away from your mouth but the lovely face in front of you had – unintentionally, of course – dredged up quite a few things you would have much rather left unearthed. The hollowing feeling of inadequacy began to creep up and spread throughout you, weakening the grip you held on her hand. You quickly pulled away, frightened that she had noticed, and averted your gaze, attempting to play it off as though something had caught your eye within the restless crowd. Pearl looked like a Career, no doubt: thin and tall, frail but strong, like spider’s silk. The way in which she held herself was the perfect example of how your mother would have wanted you to be sitting beside her, but instead you found yourself slowly sinking into a slouch, already becoming submissive to this girl.

Am I really this intimidated by her already?

Undoubtedly the answer was yes. Your hand tightened its grip on the pair of drumsticks and you pulled them closer to yourself as if it would make you feel any better and gain even the slightest bit of confidence. The pressure of somehow trying to break the silence and the mentality of “proving yourself” to her began to wear down on you, gnawing at your gut and tightening your drying throat. But you heard your mother’s voice, shrill and angry, in the back of your head (“Don’t you dare look anyone in the eye, Ver Fontem!”) so you kept your attention down, focusing on the small holes you had dug into the ground with your toes in a futile attempt to save yourself from boredom.

Eventually Pearl’s voice brought you out of the abyss of your mind and you raised your gaze, finding her grey eyes for a split moment before quickly looking away, startling yourself with the sudden eye contact. ”Excited?” It was evident in your voice how much your attitude had changed since you had learned her surname and it only hurt more to have unknowingly disclosed such private feelings. In truth you were excited, but due to all the memories resurfacing and undesirable feelings plaguing you suddenly you weren’t as happy to see the face of another victor. A small and weak smile was forced back onto your face and you struggled to keep an even tone. ”Yeah, um – I mean, who isn’t?”

so show me family
all the blood that i would bleed
i don’t know where i belong
i don’t know where i went wrong
but i can write a song

[/color][/justify]

[Python]

Her name was a curse. Ver’s faltering smile was further proof of the superstition. The curse of the Millisons - or better yet, the curse of the career. Surnames like Shore, Moreno, Dempsey, Fray, Lightwood, and Millison were intimidating to hear, because to those who were only children or unable to train these names were a reminder of how ferocious their district was: a district filled to its brink with offspring that squealed at the idea of murdering on national television for fame and glory. Pearl, although drilled to her core with endless nonsense about how she should dream big and become a trained killer, was not an advocate of such violence. She was not putty that could be molded into the perfect creation through her parents’ strict hands; she was solid as a rock, her nature predisposed and permanent. Compassion could not be forced out of her through rigorous training. Her nausea at the sight of bloodshed could not be banished through sheer will-power. Her tears could not be dried with money and splendor. She was a good-natured soul born into the wrong family, and now she would suffer because of it.

Bloodlines meant nothing to her. Millison or not, she was ill-fitted for training and weaponry. The scars marking her hands were proof of these early struggles. But the ideals of the career had been pounded into her brain along with punishments until there had only been sanctuary through obeying her mother’s orders. This treatment was the only reason why Pearl was as skilled as she was. Physically the name would suit her training, but emotionally she was everything but courageous. The Games themselves were brutal, and although she had been forced to watch them since she was a child she still dreaded the event each year. She hated the idea that her mother would cheer if either of her daughters were to be sent off to fight like gladiators. She hated the idea that some people wanted to slit innocent children’s throats just to become famous. She hated the idea that each year there was a chance Pearl or Diamond could be summoned to the capitol and thrust into a hostile environment, where either of them could surely die. Diamond’s chances surpassed her own - she would at least have hope. Pearl’s fate, however, would be sealed.

She immediately blamed herself for Ver’s sudden withdrawn behavior. Had she only mentioned her first name perhaps he wouldn’t have recognized her. ”Excited?” his tone was weaker now, and she wanted desperately to vanish into thin air for being such a fool. ”Yeah, um - I mean, who isn’t?” He sounded uncertain. Was he still intimidated by her name, or was he truly as apathetic about Opal’s victory as he appeared? There were a number of people who wouldn’t be as excited because they thought of the Games as barbaric, and she agreed. But she was actually delighted to see one of their district’s tributes alive. It wasn’t the glory and the praise she was concerned with - just Opal’s safety. She didn’t deserve to die, so Pearl was relieved to see her in good shape (despite the missing leg, of course.)

”I-I think Opal is different from the others,” she suddenly blurted, thinking it too impolite to abandon the conversation to flee like a coward. She was certainly more skilled at fleeing than mending her own problems, but she figured she couldn’t worsen the situation if she tried. ”I don’t think she wanted to kill any of those tributes.” And as district one residents, they both knew of former tributes who had indeed wanted to spill pure blood not only for the sake of victory, but for the sake of sadistic, unadulterated pleasure.

[/color][/blockquote][/justify]

[semper]

everything that drowns me
makes me wanna fly
everything that kills me
makes me feel alive

It was people like Pearl who made you feel terribly inadequate. Your mother’s stinging words were forever seared into your very being, rearing their ugly heads at the most inopportune times. Things about the Fontem name (or what was left of it), a so-called “pristine” social image, “ignorance” to the “gracious deeds” your mother tried to deliver to you – stuff that left both physical and mental scars, stuff that conditioned you to flinch and lean away whenever something got too close to your face. You had the ferocious people, such as you mother, and then people like Pearl.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see her still sitting there in that dress that made you rethink your choice of worn and holey clothes. You paled in comparison to her so you were sure to keep your gaze down, once again digging at the dirt with your toes.

”I-I think Opal is different from the others.” But what set her apart from the rest? Was it her gender, her physique, her status, her training score? What about Opal Shore made her different from the other victors or the tributes being laid to rest in One and other districts? To you the girl did not seem any different than any other person you met, Pearl included. Human personalities stretched from one extreme to the polar opposite but most tended to hover around the middle ground, reaching either way on issues. Opal Shore, however, appeared to be starting to reach toward one extreme. ”I don’t think she wanted to kill any of those tributes.” But who would? You knew for a fact you could never kill a person – only crazy people did that. Was that what set her apart? She wasn’t crazy like that alliance with people from Seven, Six, and Five that went out hunting, preying on weaker tributes. Was it justifiable then to say that she was more human than the rest? No, not entirely. There were plenty of displays of humanity, as when Five broke down and fell into the security of Six; when Seven’s male displayed concern for Seven’s girl; when Five’s male gave one of his water jugs, boiled and pure, to his district partner in order to keep her alive. They were all human and humans don’t naturally want to kill other humans.

Everyone in the arena had the same amount of humanity; it was only how much of it they force down and away that labeled them as a killer.

”I don’t think anyone there wanted to kill anyone else,” you began sheepishly, giving a small shrug to go along with it. ”They only did it because they had to. It’s just kill or be killed, and most everyone’s scared of dying so they do what they have to. Are there any victors that did want to kill their fellow tributes?”

so show me family
all the blood that i would bleed
i don’t know where i belong
i don’t know where i went wrong
but i can write a song

[/color][/justify]

[Python]

”They only did it because they had to. It’s just kill or be killed.”

Except that wasn’t district one’s policy - a district so proud and cherishing of its victors that children dreamed to volunteer for the Games before they even reached puberty. Yes, there were those who wanted no part of the Capitol’s manipulation, but compare that to the number of potential killers who craved that spotlight, and what would they find? They would see the gleaming eyes of wanting children and hungry souls, asking for a fight for glory and screeching for the bloodshed of lower districts. Even those who didn’t want to volunteer had reveled in fellow tributes’ deaths after their Reaping. Her mother was one prime example – a lethal career indeed, but not a volunteer. Her name had been plucked out of that glass bowl, and she had stood firmly and proudly on that stage, prepared to fight for honor and survival.

And fight she did.

”My mother.” Her response was a whisper of shame. There was no avoiding her identity as the victor’s daughter, and she was finished trying to mask it around Ver, who already seemed to recognize the name. Even with so many district one past victors it was difficult to ignore her mother’s presence among them. Ruby Millison, vicious career who betrayed her allies and laughed at their sacrifices; the woman who had forced her daughters to watch her Games over and over, to teach and to brag about her techniques as a guideline to their training. She always boasted about how district one’s shining stars were the best – and then when those tributes lost, she would scoff at their mistakes and pinpoint exactly what she thought they had done wrong in order to deserve their deaths.

It wasn’t easy, following in such heavy footsteps.

”And Julian Bryze. Maybe Cricket, too. They both seemed to enjoy their kills.” She added, because who could deny the ferocity of Julian’s hunting and the smiles Cricket had flashed, as if her Games hadn’t involved the deaths of actual living, breathing human beings with families and loved ones who would weep for their deaths? Pearl knew that most victors had only battled for the sake of selfishness, survival, and a fear of death, but the monsters shouldn’t be forgotten. Not when they were practically walking among them.

She stared down at the fingers twining in her lap, and bit the inside of her cheek. It wasn’t often that she held such serious conversations with complete strangers. It was nice, but it threatened to draw out her buried insecurities. ”Opal just isn’t like other careers,” she said.

She’s like me, only braver.

[/blockquote][/justify]