slowly moving in the back of my mind {patricia/diamond} {VT}

[rook]

♕ { p a t r i c i a v a l f i e r n o} ♕
victor of the 68th annual hunger games

i will carry you and give you life
i will cover you and show you the way
it's a sequence that you never learned
it's a lesson I will never forget

"Sandwich?" I'm offered a platter. I sigh, already growing tired of my Victory Tour, two hours in. Someone made all these sandwiches for me, and I'm not even that hungry. There are kids living in the mud in Five who would do anything for a sandwich. There's no point in pondering on it though. I'm lucky to be here. I shouldn't be complaining about each and every thing. It's only for a couple of weeks, then I can go home, back to Rose. Hopefully I can start my life again. Part of me doubts it.

I examine the range of fillings, some brightly colored, some stuffed with pastes. None of it looks natural. My stomach grumbles. I am hungry now that food is in front of me. I reach for one, but pause. I remember my first day in recovery, they would only feed me food out of a tube, to ease me back in. After a week they said I could eat anything. I gorged myself on rich, luxurious foods. I won't make that mistake again, because I was vomiting all afternoon.

"Got anything normal? Like ham?" I ask the Capitol worker, who is part of a twenty-person team hired to tend to all my needs on the tour. Camera workers, make-up artists, fashion experts, chefs, media representatives, oh and Peacekeepers to keep an eye on my actions. All these people being employed to limit my freedom as much as possible. I'm their walking, talking doll.
"We have gammon, with mustard." He tells me, gesturing to pink, fleshy meat, topped with yellow paste, all crammed between two pieces of bread and cut into quarters. Mustard. I turn my nose up, but when I look at the other sandwiches on offer, I figure that I can't do much worse.

I polish off a few sandwiches, which are tangy, but the flavor of the meat is enough to make them bareable. The hole in my appetite seems to have filled, but there's this anxiety preventing my stomach from settling. I take a deep breath and drink some more water. The driver announces over the intercom that we are ten minutes out of District One, and should get ready. I walk to the window, peering out at the passing countryside. It's definitely more built up than Five. They say of the three Career Districts, One is the most glamorous. The people here don't take themselves too seriously, and have freedoms that the people of less fortunate Districts can only dream of. Most families are rich, and the Careers are less intense, but still of a high quality. Pearl was none of those things. She was just a normal girl. I guess that even in places like One, underdogs still exist.

I can't get Pearl off my mind. It's understandable, given the part she played in my survival, and that in ten or twenty minutes I'm going to have to speak about her to thousands of people. Still, I can't start overthinking what happened in the Arena. I'll get emotional, and balls up the first speech of my tour. I hope that whatever heaven she's in now, she'll understand. She was good at understanding.

The Peacekeepers watch my every movement, never letting me out of their sights. It's frustrating, but something I'm going to have to get used to. The thought of that rose on my bed in the Capitol is enough to make me want to throw up those sandwiches. I was nothing but a rebel since the day I was Reaped, and although the Games are over, my survival is still in the balance. I have to behave, because it's not just my life on the line anymore, but Rose's too. That, perhaps, is more frightening than being in that cave.

Suddenly everything's black. Something grips my chest, and I stumble, hitting the metal wall of the train. My heart races, my breath quickens. I reach for something to hold, but all I can feel is the wall and the floor. Something's definitely on my chest. I scramble on all fours, and then something grabs my arm, yanking me to my feet. The light comes back, and it's a Peacekeeper who steadies me. I jumble my words, trying to make sense of what just happened.
"Relax, we just went through a tunnel." He says, his voice irate and short. All the Peacekeepers and media team are looking at me like I'm mad. I look around from face to face, my brow furrowed and my mouth half-open. A tunnel? That's why everything went black?

I shrug off his arm.
"Right. Yeah." Stupid me.

We arrive in the station, to hoards of people at the windows. I take a deep breath. This place really is no better than the Capitol. People here celebrate Victors like celebrities, thinking that they are icons of fashion and talented athletes. The Peacekeepers pull back the doors and I'm pushed in the back, marshalled forwards. I smile nervously. It's still far too soon for any of this. I needed six months at home before I was ready for this, not a few weeks. It's out of my hands though, so there's naught to do but to get on with it.

I make my way to the stage, the Capitol's assigned speech at the front of my mind. The media team made me say it again and again until it was perfect down to the last syllable. I get a generous applause. Perhaps they remember my friendship with Pearl. Perhaps they're just being polite. I don't care about the masses, only the family I see across from me.
"Thank you, District One," I say with little enthusiasm, "I am pleased to be standing here today as Victor of the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games."
All I get is blank faces, unreadable every one. I try to pretend I'm on the train again, reciting the words with the team.
"But my Victory is not without sacrifice. Your District lost two Tributes, one of which was the bravest person I have ever met," I go off script, and get a few white helmets turn in my direction. I swallow hard, feeling a buzz in my stomach. Oh, how I could destroy the Capitol right here. How I could spark this crowd into a frenzy. I remember the rose on my bed, and restrain myself.

"Kendrick and Pearl were both strong fighters, and did your District proud. However, we must not forget why they had to be sacrificed. We all owe a debt to the Capitol, and this is how we pay it." I return to the words they told me to say, the murmurs behind me cease, and I relax a little more.
"Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever." I say slowly, judging the reaction. A standard applause is my reward for being a puppet. I already regret calling Pearl brave, knowing that it will have implications when the proceedings are over today. I owed it to her though. She was all I had in that fucking cave.

Peacekeepers escort me away from the microphone, as the large crowd disperse, heading back to their homes.
"The Millisons have invited you to dinner at their home, we will be escorting you there shortly." Someone tells me. I don't even look at them, I just nod, and let them guide me off the stage and into a carriage.

i can hear you in the overtones
just an echo of the promise we made
change the future, we can travel time
or make us blind so we can never look back

word count: 1223, graphics: rook
theme: night sky by chvrches

[Python]

diamond millison

Here in District One, everything was easy in theory. ”The Games? I’m a career, I trained for it! I’ll be fine.”

The unlikely was written off as impossible. ”Me? Reaped? Impossible. There are so many people in District One, they won’t pull my name.”

The agony of loss was ignored because it didn’t apply to the majority. ”Can you believe the Millisons are on that stage? What are the chances!”

The chances of Diamond Millison standing beneath a banner of her dead sister had been slim to none before the Reaping of the 68th Hunger Games. The idea of Victor Ruby Millison’s daughter competing and following through to pass down her legacy sounded easy in theory. The idea of Pearl Millison actually perishing had been written off as impossible by the stubborn celebrity. The agony of loss, however, could no longer be disregarded.

Ruby’s powdered face was permanently stoic, as if The Capitol had ripped off a layer of skin and stitched a mask to her delicate frame. Her blonde hair was pinned up like she was a doll on display, and somehow everyone in The Capitol was labeling her as “the striking image of her beloved daughter Pearl,” when in reality the only feature they shared was hair color. Their father was stiff in his red suit – selected to match his wife’s dress – and held his gaze somewhere toward the horizon, where it idly lingered and abandoned all forms of focus. Diamond Millison – the last remaining heiress – knew she was the only one keeping her shit together, and somehow even that wasn’t comforting. Her hair fell in ringlets over her bare shoulders, still warm from the stylist’s hair curler. She didn’t care for the appearances at all.

There was only one relief about today. The cameras that invaded her personal space would not demand questions from her, unlike during the interview she had been scheduled for after the top eight tributes were announced. It had exhausted her ability to appease halfwits with robotic responses and scripts written by her mother’s entourage, and now she was just sick of talking about it. Pearl had been alive during that interview, so the puppeteering had been okay. Now she was gone, and Diamond wished she had spoken her mind.

The crowd fell silent when the rusty redhead took the stage. Diamond knew a thing or two about Victory Tour speeches, her mother had described the whole process; the writing, the memorizing, the practicing, and the actual delivery. She was always overdramatic about how she delivered scripts, but most victors resembled robots with monotones. Patricia was no different. ”I am pleased to be standing here today as Victor of the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games," she said, and although she could understand survival as a victory, she had her doubts that anyone would want to stand on that stage and talk to a bunch of unresponsive blank faces.

Diamond kept her gaze glued to the floor of the stage until her words slipped from the script. She could sense the authenticity of it from the word “bravest.” What Capitolite would allow her to speak of Pearl in that fashion? Tributes were always fallen sacrifices, never brave. She could see the helmets of Peacekeepers turning in the Victor’s direction as if in disapproval. A smirk crossed her glossed lips. The risk was worth it.

Following the ever so pleasant “Panem forever” motto, The Millisons and the Drapers were first to be ushered away from the Square. Mother had already warned her about the dinner party, so it was important to arrive in time for last minute preparations. It amazed her how mother could continue to conform to societal expectations, yet at the same time, that was probably the only thing that woman could rely on. She didn’t know where her mother’s head was now that Pearl was out of the picture. She hadn’t spoken of Patricia or Pearl since her return, other than to warn the family about dinner plans. Her father wouldn’t speak of it either, at least not in front of her. She wondered if they were living in their heads instead of in the real world.

”Diamond,” her mother piped up as they crossed the threshold of their front door, ”When our guest arrives with her entourage, you will greet her at the door.”

How awkward. “Hi I’m Diamond Millison, I hope you enjoy dining in my dead sister’s home!”

She was still uncertain of how to approach Patricia as a person. It was easy to treat a victor like a victor, but victors were people beneath the façade. People often forgot. There was plenty to know about Patricia from the raw footage of the games. Her emotions, her opinions, her goals, her friendships, etcetera – yet Diamond didn’t know what to think and how to feel. Patricia was admirable for her selfish, career-like mindset, especially considering she was from Five. Her ability to adapt to the arena was also a worthy mention. Neither of those things had anything to do with Pearl, however. With Pearl there had been co-dependence and friendship, but ultimately Patricia had to abandon all of it. The night before Pearl was slaughtered.

The table was set and everyone was in position. Diamond lingered by the front window. She was not the least bit interested in a family dinner without Pearl, even if there was an important guest invited. She would simply endure it.

The victor arrived by carriage, of course, and Diamond waited until there was a knock on the front door.

There she was, Patricia Valfierno, up close and personal.

There was nothing spectacular about it.

”Hi, I’m Diamond Millison. It’s a pleasure.” She didn’t smile.

[rook]

♕ { p a t r i c i a v a l f i e r n o} ♕
victor of the 68th annual hunger games

i will carry you and give you life
i will cover you and show you the way
it's a sequence that you never learned
it's a lesson I will never forget

It's raining. Again. I get out of the carriage, pissed off at the persistent downpour. Pissed off that I'm being marshalled around like an animal. Generally, pissed off. Someone shoves me in the back, my eyes widen and my mouth screws up. I inhale sharply, ready to turn around and hit him. I remember that fucking rose on my bed in the Capitol and want to scream. I can't do anything. I'm still oppressed. I won and I'm still a fucking piece in their Games. I clench my fists so tightly that my knuckles turn white. I walk up the steps to the porch before anyone else pushes me in the back.

Tai Dorum stands at my side, his green and orange suit makes him look like a fucking pumpkin. The Capitolite is in charge of my schedule, and doesn't go anywhere without four stocky Peacekeepers. I can feel their burning presence behind me. Dorum looks over his spectacles at some abstract form of calendar, scribbling away in different squares. When I lean in to get a better look, he slams the black book shut and glares at me.
"I just-" I stutter.
"You have two hours with the Millisons, you are expected to enjoy their food, and compliment their daughter." He says, his voice raspy and thin. He has drank too much wine in his time, and stayed up one too many nights talking about fashion and riches. The result is a thin, wrinkled man with a wig redder than mine, and stick-on-eyebrows that look like caterpillars.

"That won't be an issue, Pearl and I were very-"
"I wasn't talking about Pearl." He cuts me off. I frown as he presses the buzzer and waits for someone to let us in from the rain. Fucking prick, I would break his fucking nose right here. I fold my arms, defeated. What can I do? Absolutely fucking nothing. When I killed Galaxy, I thought my new life would be a better one, for me and my sister. Instead I have to obediently follow the Capitol's orders, going where they say and doing what they ask. It's no life. I take a breath and remind myself that it's only for a couple of weeks. Just a couple, then I have all the rest of my years to enjoy with my sister. Peace and isolation, hiding away in Five. That will be nice.

The door opens, revealing a brunette girl with an incredibly mundane expression. Diamond. Pearl spoke about her sister with no great warmth, telling me how Diamond would put her down and generally make her feel like less of a Career. That's all Pearl had said though. I don't know if they got along, or were rivals, or what. I regret that. I didn't really speak to Pearl about my sister either. I suppose we were so wrapped up in our own survival that there wasn't much time to really get to know eachother. I would give my other hand for five more minutes with Pearl Millison. She would hug me and tell me to keep going. I draw strength from that, somewhat.

"Hi, I'm Diamond Millison. It's a pleasure." She says, in the most monotonous tone I have ever heard. Her face is blank, her eyes sunken, staring at me like I am a brick wall. I used to do that. I used to wear expressions like masks, changing them so easily to fool and trick people. People are easy to fool. I have found that when it's your head on the chopping block, you lose your masks. You don't pretend to be someone you're not. You just sort of act on instinct. I may have escaped the guillotine, but I'm still as emotionally raw as I was back then. I don't think I have it in me to be civil.

"I know." I push past her and into the house.

i can hear you in the overtones
just an echo of the promise we made
change the future, we can travel time
or make us blind so we can never look back

word count: 645, graphics: rook
theme: night sky by chvrches

[Python]

diamond millison

No handshake, no nod of the head – there was no indication that Patricia regarded her with any amount of respect. Despite her status as daughter of a victor and sister of a fallen tribute, the redhead acknowledged her with only a drawl and walked straight past her. Mother would think it insolent. Father wouldn’t care. Diamond chose father’s route, and shrugged before closing the door behind her. Most victors weren’t so pleased to stand on the stage of District One, so she didn’t blame Patricia for wanting to avoid an awkward family dinner. She didn’t want to be here either. She wanted to lock herself away in her bedroom and watch television – although there would hardly be anything entertaining on the channels. Just the latest update on Patricia’s tour and recaps of the Games. Maybe there was a celebrity station up and running, with updates on other victors. She could nap to that.

Or she could continue selecting which works of Pearl’s would appear in the art gallery. The plan was not yet set in stone, but she was determined to open something in her memory. There was a source of pride in her artwork that Diamond couldn’t fathom. It was the only hobby that could truly capture her full attention and keep it grounded until someone snapped her back to reality. Her drawings and paintings were actually stunning, Diamond had soon realized. There were hundreds of drawings and half as many paintings, all locked away inside of a prison. Pearl had always wanted to show them off and answer questions about what they meant. Problem was, Pearl had never thought anyone would care.

Diamond would make them care.

”Patricia! Wonderful to meet you!” Her mother beamed. Diamond could hear her sickly-sweet cake batter voice from the living room. ”I’m Ruby Millison, Diamond’s mother. It is such an honor and a pleasure to have you here tonight!”

Diamond finally walked into the dining room and sat in her chair. If she didn’t keep her shit together, she would only regard her mother with disgust instead of apathy. ”You were brilliant in the Games. Please, come sit!” Her mother continued, gesturing to the chair across from Diamond.

”She was okay,” Diamond said, staring at her empty plate. When she looked up at Patricia, it was with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes that she tilted her head and smirked. ”Not bad for a Five.”

Mother’s tension was evident in the way she sat down stiff as a board. Good, she thought. She wanted to make this dinner a living hell for her. Patricia could interpret it in any way she wanted. Opinions didn’t matter to her, not unless they were about Pearl. Too bad mother didn’t have a fucking opinion.

Servants carried their courses out on silver platters. The steaming chicken looked appetizing, but that glare of rusty red hair kept drawing her eye. ”This looks delicious,” Ruby exclaimed, once again plaguing the room with unnecessary comments. Why did her mother always do this? It was worse than usual. She didn’t want to hear any of that shit, and she had her doubts about Patricia too. She hadn’t met many non-capitolites who could tolerate her mother’s sugarcoated façade without a grimace. Her father, on the other hand, was civil and relatable. Except now he was practically sitting in another dimension. His stare was eerie and vacant, unlike anything Diamond had ever seen. He was staring at his food like a dead man would stare at the sky.

This was the worst family dinner in history.

”By the way,” she piped up, voice more chipper than ever, ”I want to give Patricia a tour of the house after dinner.”

[rook]

♕ { p a t r i c i a v a l f i e r n o} ♕
victor of the 68th annual hunger games

i will carry you and give you life
i will cover you and show you the way
it's a sequence that you never learned
it's a lesson I will never forget

I shift past Diamond and into the house. The parents are there, still adorning their red attires from earlier. The mother, Ruby, is a Victor too, although I struggle to put myself in the same bracket as her. She is plastered in make-up, and her face is stretched back in a rubber smile that makes me wonder how much is left of the girl she was she she won her Games. Fame, it either makes you, or breaks you. The father is more plain, his expression vacant, but polite. He reminds me a lot more of Pearl than Ruby does, simply because he seems on face value to be a bit more down-to-earth.

Diamond closes the door behind me and meanders off into another room, as I am greeted by Pearl herself.
"Patricia! Wonderful to meet you!" She exclaims, her voice sharp and shrill. I wince at the sound of it, trying my best to smile back at her artificial-looking face.
"I'm Ruby Millison, Diamond's mother. It is such and honor and a pleasure to have you here tonight!" She continues. I frown somewhat when she announces herself as Diamond's mother, and not Pearl's. I would have thought that their dead daughter would be the focus tonight. Especially given she was my closest friend in there. I try to shrug it off, but it plays on my mind as I take off my coat and hang it on the bannister.

"You were brilliant in the Games. Please, come sit!" She continues, gesturing to the table set for four. There is no chair for Pearl - Why would there be? I don't know, I guess I thought they might keep an empty seat as a sign of respect. It's almost like she never lived here at all. They don't mention her, I see no pictures of her. Makes me think this dinner is more about me than it is about Pearl.

I sit down across from Diamond, who looks completely and utterly bored with it all. I can relate to her on that. This is the last thing I want, to dine with my dead friend's family. I don't want to be here no more than Diamond doesn't want me here. The only person who is glad this is going ahead is the person who arranged it all - Ruby. I expect she loves the celebrity life, and gets off on having me dining in her house. This ain't about Pearl. I can just tell. The compliments, the smiles, the complete void where Pearl should be. I'm feeling more tense by the second.

"She was okay," Diamond stresses, like my nine day struggle in hell was nothing. I squint across at her, she tilts her head and smirks back at me. Okay? How can anyone be thrown into an Arena with twenty-three other kids, be forced to fight to the death, and somehow come out on top be considered anywhere in the region of okay in the success scale? I did a damn sight better than she ever would have. I saw the other Careers in there. Kendrick, Valarie, Asa. They all had egos, and they died because they didn't have a fucking clue what it was to survive. Even Pearl's training couldn't save her from a brute like Crusader. He slaughtered her, and talent or preparation didn't matter. He was a machine, and guess who was the one to dismantle him? Me. I did a lot better than okay.

"Not bad for a Five."
Whatever. What-fucking-ever. Pretentious little shit needs to learn what the world is really like. I'll tell her one thing - It isn't numbered.

But, I say nothing. I keep my thoughts bottled up, stacked away and locked tight - Because the last thing I want to do is cause a scene, and get dragged away by Peacekeepers. I'll stick at it, for Pearl more than myself.

Servants, all immaculately dressed, enter the room. I raise an eyebrow. I wasn't expecting service like this. I would have thought Ruby was cooking, but then, she is a Victor. She lives a life of luxury. They bring out our plates of golden-white chicken, accompanied by sprigs of helda beans and some sort of cream sauce. I can only hope it's not too rich for my volatile stomach.
"This looks delicious," The other Victor says with no lack of enthusiasm. I try to take her with a pinch of salt, fuck knows the other must do.

I tentatively pick up my silverware and prod at the chicken. Clear juices escape from the piping hot meat as I poke at it with my knife. I cut down the middle, paranoia telling me to check it's not pink, and is cooked throughout. Years of shitty street cooking have taught me to always be careful you're not eating anything raw. Even now I can't shake that habit. I chew, the meat is dry in my mouth and lacks any distinct flavor. I try it with the sauce, and it's a bit better, although my appetite is generally lacking.

"By the way," Diamond breaks the silence, I continue eating without giving her a second glance, "I want to give Patricia a tour of the house after dinner."
The first thing that comes to mind is Pearl's room. That's the only room I care about seeing. I'd like to know what her life was like before. I knew her in the Arena, but she never really talked about her real life, and neither did I. I barely knew her at all.

The servants bring around a bottle of wine, pouring generously into each glass. Wine is a luxury resource back home, but here I expect it's a bit more common. That said, I doubt this one is cheap. Ruby is a woman of class, and wouldn't serve cheap wine to a Victor. I wait as they go around the table, and come to me.
"I'll pour it myself, thanks." I take the green translucent bottle from him, feeling it's weight, examining it's gold-leaf printed text. I pour myself a small amount, and then, when I'm happy, I hand it back to him. I take my wine glass and put it at the end of the table, where no one is sitting. Have one on me.

My appetite returns. I smile and devour the rest of my chicken.

i can hear you in the overtones
just an echo of the promise we made
change the future, we can travel time
or make us blind so we can never look back

word count: 1057, graphics: rook
theme: night sky by chvrches

[Python]

diamond millison

Her mother visibly stiffened. Not what you expected? Diamond’s challenge was no subtle thing. She wanted her mother to see the elephant in the room and hear its bellows of protest at her immoral decision to disregard its existence. There was no empty chair at the table to acknowledge the absence. There was no mention of a past. Patricia was the last outside connection the family had with their lost gem, yet her mother only wanted to waste time with frivolous questions and mundane conversation. She didn’t know if some sort of falling out had occurred between Ruby and Pearl in the Capitol (it wouldn’t surprise her if there had been), but it was not an excuse to be a heartless witch. This was such an ugly portrait to paint for their guest. The only person Patricia probably cared about was Pearl. Why would she give two shits about a mother and a sister?

”That sounds like a lovely idea,” her mother lied. Victory one for Diamond. The dinner’s objectives were originally for satisfaction of social expectations. She was determined to mold it into something worthwhile. Patricia was obligated to attend, but Pearl would be the only subject she cared to dwell on. Her mother could repress the memories all she wanted, but Diamond would deliver what was expected. It was what Pearl deserved – not to be cast aside, but to be explored and cherished by a guilty sister and a grateful friend.

The servants were summoned with a bottle of mother’s classiest wine. Diamond had a taste for the poison, but not tonight. She needed her wits about her. It was only respectful. ”None for me,” she said, waving the servant away with her hand. ”I’ll have ice water.” The man nodded and returned with a pitcher of water, pouring it into her glass until it was three quarters filled. Her mother, of course, indulged in the wine enthusiastically, and devoured her chicken without a worry in the world. Diamond’s appetite was not parched, but it wasn’t potent either. She chewed mechanically without tasting the flavors and washed it down with her beverage.

”So, how is the life of fame treating you?” Her mother asked. Again with the irksome questions. They couldn’t enjoy a moment of peace, but Diamond knew her mother well. It was to be expected. ”It must be hard not to get lost in the glamour.”

Diamond prodded at the beans on her plate. Are you sure you’re not just talking about yourself? Patricia was not the glamorous type, no matter how extravagantly the Capitol dolled her up. She was rough around the ages with a “no nonsense” attitude. Glamour was about as relevant as the dirt under her shoes. That was probably why her Victory Tour had been scheduled earlier than usual. Might as well get it over with, right?

She tasted nothing as she finished her beans and slurped her soup. She was ready for this meal to end. She was ready to disappear. She was ready for mother to shut up about fame and start acknowledging their mansion of mourning.

[rook]

♕ { p a t r i c i a v a l f i e r n o} ♕
victor of the 68th annual hunger games

i will carry you and give you life
i will cover you and show you the way
it's a sequence that you never learned
it's a lesson I will never forget

Do they even realize that this whole situation is fucked? Do they even acknowledge what I had to do to get out of that cave? Hurt people, sacrifice people, leave people, kill people. Obviously Ruby has forgotten. To her, it's like her name was picked and she was thrown into fame, without the small matter of having to survive hell. Maybe she got used to it. Maybe she couldn't get used to it. Maybe she's in denial. Who fucking knows? She's just like Lethe. She's become this-... This thing. This shiny, painted doll. A puppet being manipulated by the Capitol to the extent that she doesn't even know she's being controlled anymore. I'm tangled in the same strings, and the thought of becoming anything like Ruby Millison is making me queezy.

"So, how is the life of fame treating you?" She says, and the words are so rich and headache-educing. I'm angry but at the same time I am so very tired and have no energy to scream or shout or protest. I just want to throw up, be dragged back onto the train, and shipped off to District Two. I wouldn't look back. Yet I'm holding it all together, and it's not even for my own sake, but for Pearl. Respect for the one girl who cared about me is keeping me level headed. Fame. She wants to talk fame? How about this: I was in the hospital up until a week ago. Deep chest wound, severed hand, psychological trauma. As soon as I passed a fitness test I was forced into interviews and sent back home. Six days at home before they forced me onto this fucking tour. Fame? I fucking hate fame. I want to crawl into a hole and be forgotten. That's how low I am.
"It must be hard not to get lost in the glamour."

Lost in grief, more like. Up and down, my mood fluctuating more than my blood sugar. It's like I'm a gust of wind one minute, and a hurricane the next. They told me it's normal to go through a range of emotions, but just thinking about that makes me angrier and angrier. Nothing about this is normal, how many times do I have to stress that? Normal is what I crave. Just brief moments of normality, where I'm not in pain, or under pressure, or expected to smile and give a speech. Time where I can be myself - Whatever that may be. I don't even know who I am anymore. Lost. Like Ruby said. Lost in it all.

I put my knife and fork parallel, so they are touching, pointing to the center of the porcelene. I push the plate forwards, indicating that I am done eating. My eyes flicker steel towards Diamond for a second, before returning to Ruby.
"For sure." I say with no amount of enthusiasm, "Thank you for the food, Mrs Millison."
The servants take away our plates, but leave the glass of wine I left for Pearl. My eyes trail to it, and I see my own tired expression glaring back at me in the reflection. Red, red, red. Nothing ever changes. I think of Lethe, and Ruby, and I wonder how they washed the blood off their hands. I wonder why they washed the blood of their hands. Why? That's disrespectful, surely. I would rather that blood dries, and hardens, and makes me stronger. Washing it off is stupid.

The mood is still. My burning rage will not boil over. I stick a lid on it, partially due to the Capitol's constant threat to my sister, and partially out of respect for Pearl. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable.
"I need to use the bathroom." I excuse myself, without waiting for permission or blessing. I stand up promptly and head up the stairs, not daring to look back. Their eyes burn me. They hate me, deep down. They hate me because I'm not their daughter, or sister. They hate me because I left Pearl to die, and no amount of fine-cut chicken breast or vintage wine is going to mask that. I don't belong in this house. I feel like I'm walking on her grave by being here. I'm cold and uncomfortable in my own skin.

I close the bathroom door behind me and lean heavily over the sink. I look at my reflection and it stares back at me with an expression of loathing. I turn on the cold tap and let it run for a few seconds, breathing heavily. The contents of my stomach moves around, and my breaths become shorter and thinner. My palms grip at the sides of the basin, and for a good half minute I stand there, trying to focus on my breathing. Trying to think of Rose, and home, and all the things that make me comfortable. My bed. My walking boots. Rain. Really shit radio signal. It's enough to stop me from throwing up, and I let go of the sink, my shoulders relaxing somewhat. I splash some water on my face before pressing a soft towel to my face.

I gently close the bathroom door behind me and double back the way I came, towards the stairs. I pause by a closed door, my hand curiously touching the silver knob. All the other doors are open. This is Pearl's room. It has to be. Not one word about Pearl since I entered this house. No pictures, no memoires, no nothing. And now, the only closed door upstairs. Something makes my chest go all funny, and I can't help but to slowly turn the handle and push the door open.

i can hear you in the overtones
just an echo of the promise we made
change the future, we can travel time
or make us blind so we can never look back

word count: 944, graphics: rook
theme: night sky by chvrches

[Python]

diamond millison

Patricia’s bland response was enough to make her chortle into her water. She wasn’t even trying to humor her mother. She had left a glass of wine for an invisible entity – a respect to Pearl, which she admired – but her mother wouldn’t acknowledge it. Now Patricia didn’t sound remotely interested in her nauseating questions. All this talk of “glamour” didn’t suit the occasion. There was nothing glamorous about blood and sacrifice; it was the outcome that mattered, the fame and fortune and celebrity status. That was what their District wanted – they just had to risk their lives for it. It wasn’t such a culture shock since she had grown up in this atmosphere of greed, but whenever a career didn’t win the Games it was like an alien visiting their district. It was a reminder that oh yeah, people died.

There was no glamour in Pearl’s death.

Diamond smirked when Patricia excused herself in favor of the bathroom. If she were in her position, she would find the nearest window and crawl out of it. Obviously that wouldn’t happen because there was a lot expected of her, but the idea itself was amusing. Anything to get away from her mother. If only that trick could work for Diamond. Escaping that scrutinizing gaze was impossible, even now. As soon as Patricia ascended the stairs and vanished, her mother’s lipstick-stained smile faded just a smidge. ”May I speak to you after dinner, Diamond?” she asked, and of course the “may I” was not a question. She was expected to say yes.

Diamond pushed her empty plate forward and waited for the servants to pick up. ”Dinner is over, mom,” she said flatly. Her mother wasn’t finished with her meal just yet, but she always liked to drag things out. Clearly Diamond and their guest wanted this to end as quickly as possible. ”Can we talk after I give Patricia the tour?”

Please, let me be free of your bullshit for another hour. It was important. She had to understand that, right? She couldn’t be buried that far in denial.

Ruby dabbed her lips with a napkin and nodded after a long pause. ”Sure.” She said it like it displeased her, like the words were dark chocolate instead of the milk chocolate she loved so dearly. Whatever. Diamond would endure her complaints later.

Without another word, she dismissed herself and walked up the stairs. Every door was open except Pearl’s. It had been closed since Diamond’s last visit.

She waited at the end of the hall until Patricia came out of the bathroom. Diamond was prepared to follow her and intercept her at the stairs, but the redhead paused in front of the closed door. Diamond paused with her, eyeing her movements curiously. Would she actually step inside without permission? Rude, but not unjustified. She had every right to see it.

The click of the doorknob was the only confirmation she needed. As Patricia pushed open the door, Diamond appeared behind her. ”Starting the tour without me?” she said, smiling. Now she could be peaceful with the victor if she would allow it. Mother wasn’t here to hinder her or annoy the hell out of her. If Patricia didn’t like her, fine. That didn’t matter to her one bit. But now was the time to be real with her, to be genuine.

This was about Pearl now. Everything else was irrelevant.

”After you.”

Pearl’s walls were colored pink. Not her decision, but she had never once suggested a change. She said it was a baby pink, not too bright, kind of relaxing. Her bed was made and tidy. All drawers were shut. The curtains were drawn, and her closet door propped open. She had a desk lined with sketchbooks and boxes of pencils. Paints had a designated corner.

Diamond knew where all of the artwork was.

”Go to the closet,” she said, pointing to the door.

[rook]

♕ { p a t r i c i a v a l f i e r n o} ♕
victor of the 68th annual hunger games

i will carry you and give you life
i will cover you and show you the way
it's a sequence that you never learned
it's a lesson I will never forget

I should feel bad. I've intruded other people's houses before, countless times. It used to be to spy one someone, or to steal something of value, or even sometimes to find an empty bedroom for Rose and I to subtly stay in for the night. This is different though. I'm a welcome guest in this house, to an extent. Going upstairs to use the bathroom and then peering in bedrooms is crossing a line, and the last thing I want is to be leaving District One on bad terms. I need to get this tour off to a good start if I want Rose to stay safe. They've made that clear enough.

Yet I have a horrible reputation for going against the grain. Who's going to rue me for having a peek inside Pearl's room. I deserve to, don't I? I knew her in her final days. I knew the real her. After bleeding for her, and her bleeding for me, I deserve to know everything about her. Rather, I owe it to Pearl's memory. They're not going to care. Are they? Well, they don't have to find out about it either way. I edge forwards. Even with a deep stab wound in my chest, I'm still pretty light on my feet. I used to pride myself on my nimble footwork, and in the Games it was a key factor to surviving in the dark. A throbbing hits my chest, I stagger and grab the door frame. Ripred. The short, sharp pain tears through me. My left foot clumsily hits the floorboards in an attempt to steady myself. I hope a poorly balance pose for a few seconds, before pulling myself upright again. Me? Agile? Maybe not.

"Starting the tour without me?" Her voice comes so suddenly that I freeze, like a child caught with their hand in the proverbial cookie jar. Diamond must have followed me up, because I didn't hear her come up the stairs since I left the bathroom. Then again, she might be more stealthy than I gave her credit for. My clutzy display must have been enough for her to find me, either way, I do my best to look composed. I turn to her, surprised to see that she is smiling at me. Almost by instinct, I smile back.

I'm not sure what to make of Diamond. She holds very little resemblance to her sister, yet when she smiled at me, for a split second I felt a familiar comfort. I've almost forgotten what it's like to be smiled at, to be considered as a real person, with real emotions. Empathy, they call that. Diamond is empathetic. Just as her sister was. It's only now I realize how beautiful this girl is. Perfect Career body, slender, yet unbreakable. It's something about these Career District teenagers that just screams perfection. Maybe it's because they're so clean.

"After you." She gestures into Pearl's room, and now it just feels wrong. Sneaking in was rebellious, I felt like I earned that right. Being invited into the room is different. I don't know. When I look through the door frame and into the pastel pink wallpapered room, I feel sick to my stomach. A familiar anxiety that presses against my chest wound. I try to focus on my breathing as I step inside the dead girl's quarters. Everything is tidy, and I can't help but to wonder if Pearl left it like this, or if someone tidied it after she left, as if removing any evidence from that morning. I think of her rushing to get changed into her Reaping clothes, leaving her bed unmade, and her pyjamas on the floor. I think of books left on the floor, or training gear half-packed into a rucksack. I see none of it now. Perhaps it never was there, perhaps my estimation of Pearl is all wrong. But to me it's like someone removed any evidence of Pearl's life, and replaced it with some tiny, compact, minimalist memorial.

I look to the desk on the far side, littered with pots of paints, brushes, and scraps of paper, all organised nicely. Was Pearl the one who organised it all, or was she a messy artist?
"Go to the closet." She suggests, more than demands. I step inside, and it's like walking on a grave. I feel cold and wrong. The closet is propped open. As I approach it, my stomach churns over and over, like a tumble-drier. What could be of such importance that Diamond wants me to see? Something of value to Pearl, no doubt.

What I see are paintings. Batches and batches of paintings, varying in color and complexity. Large faces with out of proportion features, brilliant night skies splattered with white stars. Fields and flowers, animals and architecture. The more I look, the more amazed I am at the variety. She painted anything and everything. There are darker pieces too, ones depicting murder, and the Games, and fire. There is such raw emotion in this cupboard, emotion of a girl no longer alive. It's like everything she ever was has been plastered on these canvases. This is her. This is all that's left of her.

I breathe slowly, my words flowing out light, and without prior thought.
"I didn't even know she was artistic," I say, my voice cracking, "I didn't know a fucking thing about her."

I never asked, she never said. And that makes me cry my fucking heart out.

i can hear you in the overtones
just an echo of the promise we made
change the future, we can travel time
or make us blind so we can never look back

word count: 908, graphics: rook
theme: night sky by chvrches

[Python]

diamond millison

Pearl’s collection was a timeline. Sketchbook after sketchbook was stacked in a tower in the corner, all ancient history from a forgotten childhood. She had started painting at age twelve, and she remembered because that was the year of Pearl's first Reaping, the year their mother cracked down on them with her figurative whip of authority and influence. Stress drove Pearl into sudden bouts of creativity, hours spent locked away in her room with paints scattered about. Her laundry basket had always been bursting with stained towels and aprons. Eventually, mother had insisted Pearl complete that load of laundry on her own. Chores could always be left to servants, but this was Pearl’s hobby, her responsibility.

It was no secret, yet it took ages for Pearl to allow anyone to view her works. There had been a steady improvement of line precision, color blending, and detail etching, until she had mustered the least amount of confidence possible to finally say “Yes” to Diamond’s curiosity. The first painting she had ever seen was one of a hellhound pack, except instead of bared teeth and malice in their posture, they were standing beneath a full moon, howling instead of hunting. It was soothing in theory, but nobody had ever seen a hellhound on television without blood dripping from its snout. Pearl had dreams, apparently. Ones with a major subtraction of violence and realistic outcomes.

Diamond thought it was unhealthy. Living in a dream would take her nowhere, but as the years passed her paintings displayed more accurate depictions of the real world. Where there were springs and beautiful architecture, there was also raw emotions and bloody battles, there was Caesar in his chair interviewing a District Twelve child, there were fallen hands dyed red with dried blood. Her collection was a blend of everything; happy and sad, real and unreal, sinful and pure, terrifying and soothing. There was nothing over the top, of course; Pearl was still a timid thing, even in her memories, and the Games hadn’t changed that aspect of her nature. But there were works that her mother would question. Works that would make the public uncomfortable. They were edgy, and perhaps best left inside these walls.

”You didn’t have time to know her,” she said, wandering to the table at the opposite end. ”But you saw parts of her that I never got to see.” She turned around and stared blankly at Patricia, like the answer to her emotional distress had been obvious all along. Of course she didn’t know Pearl. That is, she didn’t know Pearl’s past, Pearl’s hidden talents. But she did know the rawest, purest, darkest, and brightest sides of her. The true colors of any painting. The Games cracked people open like eggs and spilled their contents for the world to see. Some of it was censored or deleted. Patricia had seen every last bit of it.

”Her dream was to open a gallery for her artwork. I don’t know when, but she was always talking about it.” And that was something Pearl did – she put things off because she was cautious and conscientious. Had she lived, she could’ve waited until she was thirty or forty. Now that she was gone, there was no better way to honor her memory. ”I plan to open it myself.”

She slipped into one of the corners and found a painting leaning against the wall, exactly where she had placed it yesterday. It was framed and preserved, depicting morbid colors and terror. It was an eye - not suspended, not exotic, just an average brown eye on an average face, but in the pupil’s reflection was a sword. No blood, just silver. Perhaps a tribute’s final moments.

”Pearl was going to give this to the next victor,” she started, picking it up and flipping it to expose the color. ”I didn’t think she’d go through with it, but I will.”

[rook]

♕ { p a t r i c i a v a l f i e r n o} ♕
victor of the 68th annual hunger games

i will carry you and give you life
i will cover you and show you the way
it's a sequence that you never learned
it's a lesson I will never forget

And I'm crying, for the first time since I don't know when. First time since I've won. Probably since I cried myself to sleep in Pearl's embrace, exhausted from fighting and justifying the killings to myself. Justifying killing others, convincing myself that it was them or me. I told myself that them being dead was better than me being dead, but how true is that, really? People are still dead. I don't regret it, but the way I look at it, the way I talked about it to Rose. Fuck, she's still so impressionable. Like those lives didn't even matter, but of course they did. And Pearl, she knew that. She knew the value of a life, and she knew what it took to take one. Perhaps not at the time, no, but in the end, of course. She was the best of us, and I'm the worst. That's how it works.

"You didn't have time to know her," Diamond states, and that hurts, like driving a stake into my chest. Like Galaxy stabbing me all over again. I feel the wound. It hurts, like it's fresh. She's right, I only knew Pearl for, fuck how many days? Four? Five? Well, maybe a couple of days more because of the Training Center, but that was one time. Diamond is right. I've come into her house and pretended to be someone who was close to Pearl in her final days, but really I don't have a clue who she is, and that's what really twists the stake. That's what hurts.

"But you saw parts of her that I never got to see." She adds, after a pause, and I can breathe again. I can breathe. That's something, what is that? Acceptance? Sympathy? Something human, behind the Career mask and the stubborn appearances in front of her plastic mother. There is something about Diamond Millison that makes my hair stand on end. I feel like I owe her something, even though I never wronged Pearl, or her family. I feel like because I won, I'm supposed to give something back to the Millisons, and Diamond in particular, because she's the only normal one here.

Maybe it's because Pearl was so vital to my survival that I want to repay her. I don't know. I so often search for answers in an abyss of questions that overlay each other. Criss-crossing and contradicting, always. I feel bad, if what she says is true. I saw the parts of Pearl that Diamond didn't ever get to see. Those tiny moments of raw emotion. No masks, no false pretences, the real her. Just like the whole of Panem saw the real me. A ruthless survivor. That's what I'm labelled as. Ruthless. Someone who doesn't hesitate.

"Her dream was to open a gallery for her artwork. I don't know when, but she was always talking about it." She says, her words so normal. Pearl had a real life, beyond the caves and the Capitol. She had plans, she had a fucking future, filled with ambition and dreams that I never even considered to exist. If these truly are all Pearl's then she was an incredibly talented artist. I just think, all that talent, all that talent and ambition, and... And she's gone.

"I plan to open it myself." Diamond reveals, but by now I'm shaking, and struggling to keep up with her words. My eyes sting, and my make-up runs. Make-up I didn't even want to wear, but they made me, because that's what I am now, a talking mannequin. My stomach feels like someone has punched a hole in it. My fingertips tingle. Why? Why do I feel all of this rawness. I feel open and exposed and embarrassed, because Patricia Valfierno is ruthless, she doesn't cry. She isn't weak.

The girl across from me reaches to the corner of the cabinet, and pulls out a large painting, turning it over to face me. Not black, but very dark brown, and then yellows contrasting to make chesnut color, running in an arc, over and looping round into an iris. Black without the use of black, outlines to make shining reflection. A silver sword, and sheer terror in the eye. A mindfull of questions, overlapping, spilling out of my mouth in a wordless breath.

"Pearl was going to give this to the next victor," She says, handing my the painting, "I didn't think she'd go through with it, but I will."

I take it in both hands, and stare at it for I don't know how long. The eye is the eye of someone about to be killed in the Games, of that there is no doubt, but the meaning behind the painting is deeper. The viewer is looking at the eye, so it's almost like I am the one holding the sword. That makes me uneasy. The eye could easily be Galaxy's. I wipe away tears with the back of my hand, and try to steady my breaths. I can't even remember what color eyes Galaxy had. I saw the light leave her eyes. I encouraged the life to leave her, I wanted to hear that cannon, so that I could go home. All that, but I can't even remember. I can barely remember her face in that darkness.

"Thank you." I manage, but it's pathetic and standard. I want to be so much more, I want to say so much more, but I'm weak, and mentally fractured. I don't know what to say or do. There's no dry comment, or mood lifter, or trademark Patricia Valfierno remark. Just thanks, and that's it. Pathetic and predictable and weak.

But then it kicks in, and I don't know where it comes from, but I put the painting down and look Diamond Millison in the eyes.
"Your sister meant more to me than you know, and I..." I stutter, and stumble, but push through it, red-faced and tired, "And I will spend the rest of this life that I have been rewarded... trying to make up for her sacrifice... because without her... I would not be here, and I would not want to be here."

The tears stop, and I bite my lower lip.

i can hear you in the overtones
just an echo of the promise we made
change the future, we can travel time
or make us blind so we can never look back

word count: 1029, graphics: rook
theme: night sky by chvrches