careless // rook // Victory Tour

[ali]

♤ Canaria Grey ♤

I tug on the fabric that hugs my skeletal frame with the tips of my fingers so that mother doesn’t see me fidgeting. She says I should be respectful on a day where I should be mourning those two kids who had been forced into some hole in the ground by the government; she says I should feel sad because two children died. I feel so indifferent about this whole thing- I don’t even know their names and it doesn’t really affect me- and yet I have to stand in the District Square and look sombre in some black dress my mother picked out for me. It chafes at my waist somehow and I fidget more- knowing that this enough to receive a slap on the wrist from my mother, but she is already in tears.

I let out a heavy, unnecessary sigh as people talk quietly around me. I look round at all of them, as we wait for Patricia Valiferno to appear on stage, and I frown slightly at them. Why does anyone even come to this stupid thing? I wonder to myself absently for a moment before my mind reminds me – Oh right yeah, cause we have no choice. Just like I have no choice in whether I got to Ballet after school Monday through Friday, only if I don’t attend ballet I’ll only get a scolding and possibly a grounding. Fuck knows what’d happen if you didn’t attend this; I’d rather not find out. It’s something that isn’t taught in schools, its just widely accepted by the mass population but I wonder if people question it. They must? Right?

I am bought out from my train of thought as a low rumble of clapping begins. It’s a pathetic round of applause as the Victor of the 68th Hunger Games appears on stage. She is a tall, pale thing but not the sickly pale my skin is. No, her skin has a soft pinkish hue to it and its almost as if someone decided to smother her in blusher to make her skin appear more alive but put it in all the wrong places. Her arms are long, almost as long as her skinny legs that carry her body up the steps and to the podium where she stands still as a statue; the wind blows but her amber red hair remains untouched and stays perfect. Her face is also, perfect, of imperfections such as sits and scratches she may have received in the arena- they are all gone. It’s a shame they couldn’t have hollowed her cheeks out, it would make her look less like a skull with skin and some- but very little- muscle stretched over the top.

She smiles falsely, like I do during my Ballet recitles, and begins ‘her ‘ speech. Yet as she begins, I hear the words rolling off the top of my head before her lips even move to make the next sound-

"Thank you, District Two, am pleased to be standing here today as Victor of the Sixty-Eighth Hunger Games."

People clap, out of courtesy, but they themselves are few. Mainly Careers who dream of being in her position. I despise them greatly- they say the have passion for fighting but what they do in the training centre isn’t fighting; they hit dummy’s with sticks and occasionally spar with blunted swords but that’s about it. They wouldn’t know how to take someone down with their bare thighs if they fucking tried. They may know how to punch and duck but do they know how to analyse someone’s movements to suit their next attack? Probably not- after all, they’re just angry kids looking for stardom.

"But my Victory is not without sacrifice. Your District lost two Tributes,”

Boohoo, I think to myself as she speaks again

“Valerie Leotos and Asa Reau 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."

"Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever." She says, and I say it with her, mumbled and under my breath as I roll my eyes. As the anthem plays I am first to turn to leave- all I want is to get home to my room and lie in bed thinking about boxing and more boxing and more boxing but someone grabs my arm.

“Where do you think you’re going young lady?” my mother raises an eyebrow at my questionable actions

“To the dance studio” I lie through my teeth, biting my tongue in the hope that she'll believe me.

“Alright-“ she begins, a big and ugly smile forming on her face, “-I will be heading home. Have a good time, do you know what time you-”

Her words trail off as I head off through the crowd of people who are stilling milling around like idiots. I pass a group of people, huddled around and they all seem excited and, again, most of them are Careers or family of Careers or rich business owners who have little Career children. It sickens me that some of the kids that stand in the circle, aged 12 at the youngest, are training to fight in a games they’ll probably never get to see or die anyway if they do get curse with the chance. What a waste of someone’s life.

And yet, after retrieving my holdall from the house, I find myself walking up the glistening marble steps of their shrine- the Career Institute. A sleek, glass building that seems to have been cleaned for the arrival of the Victor. I snort. My District is so far up its own arse that it practically kisses the feet of any Victor who happens to step foot into the District, whether it be one of our own or some lowly District. I never really got the appeal of murders, if you could even call Victors that.

More Careers are buzzing about busily, like bees, inside their huge glass hive. They throw limp punches, kick punching bags weakly, wack old and smelly plastic dummy's with 'swords' which are (in reality) just heavy sticks. I roll my eyes at them and their blindness to reality. How does that girl think she's going to take someone down with that throw? I stare at some tall, blonde, atheltic bimbo who is trying to punch a dummy so it goes down but her hits barely make it wobble.

I find my way to the changing rooms, where I get changed into a tight fit sports bra and leggings, and then head out onto the floor. The rest of the Careers barely notice me, they are to busy pretending to be Mace Em- whatever his name is- or some old forgotten female victor who strangled all her victims. I find a dummy who isn't being used- funnily enough I don't think he is ever used. Bob, or so I call him, is quite sturdy and takes a fierce kick to knock him down. I'd say he weighs about three or four times my weight but I can knock him down if I really try.

Tossing my towel to the side, I get into my stance. Fists are clenched and I hold them in front of my face. I hop on my toes, backwards and forwards as I imagine that Bob is a real person and that they're coming to kill me. I breath in, hold, and then roundhouse kick the thing in the head.

"HA!" I yell as I push my whole weight into the kick.

Bob wobbles and I smirk. I repeat the process, kick then punch then block then duck then punch. Again and again and again. Sweat quickly forms on my forehead, but I push through it. If Ballet has taught me anything, it is to never give up until you are perfect. I am so absorbed in what I am doing that I don't even notice how the other Careers have begun to get jittery as the door to the training room opens.

codeword: :: template and graphics by: ali :: words:

[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

The day passes over, the sun seeping down between the hills, and for the second time this week I'm faced with an evening of entertainment. Only issue is, I'm the entertainment. In One it wasn't too bad. A cocktail party in the Justice Building with overweight moneygrabbers and rich families wanting to get a photograph with this year's Victor. However, things are more down-to-earth in Two. This is a true Career District, stripped of all riches and focused purely on their youth. I've been dreading this evening, so much so that I can't even bring myself to eat anything before my team take me to the Career institute. They want me to talk to the young Careers. They want me to inspire them. The thought of that dissolves any fun I had today with Cricket, and leaves me apprehensive. On edge.

I am escorted into one of the largest buildings I have ever seen outside of the Capitol. It's entrance is magnificent, with huge silver arches cascading across the doorway. I see tiny lettering engraved into the metal, spelling out some inspirational motto, no doubt. I want to be sick. How can they encourage children to train and become killers? Children who are barely old enough to form their own opinions and views of life. They can't just-... Just take them, and mould them and make them something inhumane. I grind my teeth as the escort of Peacekeepers lead me inside. I am instantly aware that all eyes are on me. Some people stand up and applaud me, some cheer my name, other just stare, getting a good view of the latest Victor, in the flesh.

I shake hands with someone, presumably the man in charge here. He is stocky, built like a workhorse with the most chiselled jaw I have ever seen.
"Congratulations Miss Valfierno!" He says, placing his other hand on my back and leading me to the front of the hall. People seem to drop whatever training they were doing and form a cluster in the middle of the hall. The trainer turns me towards them. I swallow hard, extremely uncomfortable with my surroundings. This is all wrong, it's like being back in the Training Center again. They're expecting something of me. I have to encourage them, when all I really want to do is tell them how fucking awful it all is.

"Thank you." I say nervously, turning to address the crowd of up-and-coming killers.
"Standing before you as a Victor is a massive honor. Winning the Games was the greatest achievement of my life," I lie as convincingly as I can, "I hope some of you can experience the same pride that I did when I won my Games, and bring glory to your District."

There is a light applause, and then the students line up to shake my hand and congratulate me. I endure it best I can, smiling at the young faces and grimacing at the slightly-too-tight handshakes of the older boys. The instructor comes back to me and thanks me personally, then readdressing the crowd.
"Now, Miss Valfierno is going to give us a demonstration!" He says. Wait, what?
"Who wants to volunteer to spar with the Victor of the 68th Games?"

Oh, you are fucking kidding me.

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: 541, graphics: rook
theme: night sky by chvrches

[ali]

♤ Canaria Grey ♤

I hit the dummy again, watching the plastic human bob gently backwards and forwards at the force of my kicks, and return to my stance- hopping from one foot to another, on my tip toes like a dancer. As the jiggling body comes to a halt, my attention is caught by a bellowing voice, announcing the arrival of Patricia Valfierno. Of course, when I turn my head to get a look see, she is hidden by a sea of Career's who nudge one another and point as if they had never seen her before. I watch the crowd with utter disgust. I watch as Patricia begins another speech about how it is an honor to be a Victor and how she hopes that some of the faces she sees will go on to win for District 2. I wonder how many of those words are hers.

The Careers all clap enthusiastically and then excitedly begin to get in line to shake her hand as if she is some amusement or trained animal at the zoo. She's an animal all right I think to myself as I cross my arms across my chest and lean to the side and watch them all. I watch as the red haired victor shakes their hands with a smile that, from my point of view anyway, seems so forced that someone might as well drawn it on her. A caged one at that I think as the chain of Careers  begin to filter back to where they were gathered before. I expect that she will be off now, and that I can get back to my workout but suddenly the lead trainer- a huge, man with the face of a dog but the jaw of some Capitolie model- speaks up. 


"Now, Miss Valfierno is going to give us a demonstration!" 

I feel the energy in the room fluctuate. Half of its excited, but I can just about see Patricia through the crowd of Careers and her eyes are wide with surprise; and not the nice kind of surprise either. I feel just as surprised as her by the mans outburst. Perhaps this happens every year and the Victor puts on a little show for all the itty bitty Careers who will probably foam at the mouth when they see what she can do. I roll my eyes, absently sighing at the thought when the trainer speaks again.

"Who wants to volunteer to spar with the Victor of the 68th Games?"

The room suddenly goes deadly silent. Patricia AND the Careers all go deadly quiet. There is no more excited whispers about how awesome the Victors kill was in the finale, or whatever. They all remain absolutely still, silent, staring at their shoes. People shuffle and I see hesitation in their eyes; fear in their eyes. A smile slowly spreads across my face and I suddenly find myself breaking the silence with a hideous cackle of laughter. Not a girlish giggle or a subtle laugh but a full on cackle that has me almost doubled in tears. People turn to look at me, but I keep laughing as I make my way to the circle. 

"You can't be serious, can you??" My laughter slows down and I manage to force the sentence out  like a normal human being "Really? You're asking them to fight the victor of the 68th Hunger Games?!"

I say as I point towards the group of nervous looking Careers who wish they were brave enough to stand up to the Victor, but they might piss their pants if they do. They're staring at me now, glancing between the trainer and me. None of them raise their hand or step forward for the offer, and that makes me smirk. I turn to the trainer with a sarcastic kind of sigh. 

"Oh you make me laugh.. but since you are offering then I'll volunteer...that is.." I look to Patricia "if she wants to" 

I shoot Patricia a warm smile- it is rare I smile so nicely at people but she deserve it after all the shit she was put through- before I turn to the trainer with a raised brow. I may not be a Career but the bloke lets me come in here and do whatever the fuck I won't because he knew my mum when they were younger. He fancies her to bits but won't tell anyone about it. I hope I haven't over stepped the line, otherwise I will need to find a new place to practice. 

 

:: template and graphics by: ali :: words: 756 ::

[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

The silence is louder than the applause I got on arrival. I stand, almost in disbelief, that this pack of Careers who cheered, sneered, and jeered at me as I made my speech are suddenly backing down when a confrontation is offered. I feel powerful, for the first time. I don't feel like a weak, helpless little girl with her hands in shackles. I feel feared, and that's new. It's new because all my life I've been the one afraid. I've been the underdog. I still am. Winning my Games proves nothing. I'm still the street rat from Five. They really have nothing to fear.

I'm in pretty bad condition. The fact that they're asking me to give a demonstration just four weeks after my Games is ridiculous. My wounds aren't even fully healed. My severed hand has been buffed with an artificial replacement, but it's still tender and painful to move. My chest tightens with every breath, the stab wound going deep. I have Galaxy to thank for that. Overall, I'm in no condition to fight, let alone win. I'd say no. I'd call them inhumane. What would be the point? They don't care if I'm hurting. As far as they're concerned, I'm still just a piece in their Games. Winning didn't change that.

A high-pitched laugh cuts the silence. Sharp tones echoing off the Training Center walls. A girl walks forwards, and everyone seems to part for her. If they're afraid of me, then it's understandable that they'd be afraid of anyone brave enough to challenge me. The whole thing is a farce. They're making me out to be this deadly killing machine, but I'm not. I'm just a survivor.

"You can't be serious, can you?" Her voice is shrewd and annoying. Her tone mocks the whole scenario, but not in the same sense as I see it. Hers is a cocky edge, arrogant and brash. I take a deep breath. Careers. Think they're the most badass people on the planet, but you put them in an arena and tell them to fight, they shit their pants. I've seen it. They've seen it too, on television. They just refuse to believe it. It's mass indoctrination, and there's nothing I can do about it.

"Really? You're asking them to fight the Victor of the 68th Hunger Games?" She continues, taking strides forwards, parting Careers like the red sea.
"Oh you make me laugh... But since you are offering, then I'll volunteer. That is, if she wants to." The arrogance, the sheer nerve of this one girl. I mean, I don't expect to be able to compete. My chest is tight and the wound tender, my artificial hand isn't designed for combat. Not to mention the psychological damage I've sustained. I twitch as she joins me at the front.

"Fantastic!!" The guy in charge seems happy that someone has stepped forward. My expression is far from thrilled. We are directed onto a sparring mat, and offered a variety of blunt weapons. I look at the rack, my chest feeling tighter than before. Swords, poles, nunchucks, daggers. What does it feel like, to be stabbed? I swallow hard. Being dead is just the other side of living. These aren't real weapons. They're not used for killing. But I look at them and One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three dead. Dead.

"Please don't make me use a weapon." I turn to the instructor, "I'll do an unarmed demonstration but don't make me do this. It's too soon-"
"Pick up a weapon, Miss Valfierno." The Capitol representative's words are slow and harsh. I feel lightheaded. My vision blurs, blinded like I'm in that fucking cave again. All the while the eyes are on me, stabbing me. I want to bleed, but I can't. I can't do this, not yet. It's too soon. That part of my life is over, why do I have to do it again? Why do I have to fight when the fighting is done? Haven't they milked me enough? Haven't they got enough out of me? Huh?

"You don't want to disappoint us, need I remind you-"
I snatch a blunt sword and walk away from the representative, fronting up to my opponent. I hear a chuckle behind me, and my blood boils. Manipulation. Using my sister as leverage, again. It's going to be like that throughout the tour. No. This doesn't end with the tour. For the rest of my life they're going to be using Rose against me. Anything they want me to do, I'll have to do it to keep her safe. That's the cost of winning. They don't care if I'm mentally or physically stable enough to do this kind of shit. They just want it done.

I try to find the right grip on the wooden handle of the sparring sword, but I keep shifting it in sweaty palms, trying to get it comfortable. It doesn't come. The sides of my neck start to itch, and my face strains with a grimace I have been holding for a few minutes. I look up at the girl who I am facing. Dark hair, sharp eyebrows, attractive face. Typical Career, then. Somehow they are all good looking. She has a good physique too. Whilst she's smaller than me, she's no doubt quicker and more agile than me, even if I was fully fit I'd be no match. I hesitantly hold my blunt sword out.

--"Everything's gotta be about you."--

And it's all there in front of me. Stabbing Galaxy in the chest, gauging Cha through the eye socket, kicking Crusader down that cliff and into a lake of mercury. Barnabas dead. Asa dead. Blaire dead. Valerie dead. Kendrick dead. Blood. Stabbing. Swords. It's too soon. It was four weeks ago. Four fucking weeks. Of course it's about me. Don't you fucking get it, Galaxy? I won. I'm the lone survivor in all of this. It's about me because you're all dead.

I scream and lunge heavily, throwing all my weight into one predictable movement.

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: 1018, graphics: rook
theme: night sky by chvrches

[ali]

♤ Canaria Grey ♤

There is moment where I think they're gonna let her choose her fate, to choose whether she wants to fight me or not. I can see the irritation in her eyes, its obvious, the irritation I have caused. Oh I am used to it, I am rude, I will admit. Perhaps even a bit of a bitch, with venom instead of words when I need it. The victor probably thinks I have some nerve volunteering for this- perhaps I do. Perhaps I stepped out of line but no ones going to shoot me between the eyes for doing so, unlike those who try to run away and are slaughtered like beasts in front of everyone- mothers, fathers...children. Plus, stepping out of line is who I am.

I hear the man behind me clap his hands together and excitedly say "Fantastic!"

I can't help but role my eyes at him. Such a pompus idiot, a washed up career who - like so many- didn't get reaped and wasn't quite the cut to join the Peacekeepers; I wonder if he gets off on this kinda thing, I wonder if he enjoys the games. I smirk, small, as myself and Patricia are lead to the sparring mats- they are soft against my toes and freeze the soles of my feet but I bet that crashing down to one feels like hitting a brick wall thats on fire. Patricia seems, well, unimpressed. I guess I should feel guilty, considering its only been a month since the games and she probably hurts like hell, but I don't. I shrug the feeling off- I put the blame on the crew behind her. Plus, her face is a fucking picture.

"Please don't make me use a weapon. I'll do an unarmed demonstration but don't make me do this. It's too soon-" There is a tinge of desperation in her voice, fear almost, but before the instructor has chance to change his mind- a member of representatives speaks up.

I glance at them as the words, no, the threat pours out her mouth- cool and soft like flowing water- to make Patricia submit to their whims. No one seems fazed by the words other than Patricia and me, perhaps. I don't know what the threat is aimed at but anyone with brain cells could see that those few words bought down someone as stubborn as Patricia Valiferno in a matter of seconds. Puppets pulling strings....I think to myself as I pick up a blunted sword and weigh it in my hands.

I turn to Patricia, holding the sword in my hand. I watch as she analyses me- like a wolf stalks its prey. I smirk slightly, watching her. She isn't a wolf after all- she’s not that scary up close- skinny and tall, whatever muscles she built up in the games is no gone and she appears to be nothing more than a skeleton with a fake hand. I can't help but feel my palms become sweaty at the thought of what the games do to people- I have never seen it up close before but now that I have, I can't help but feel sorry for every soul that wants to be in the games themselves.

I bite my lip as I brace, watching Patricia lunge forward in one, singular movement. She screams as she does- the sound is only broken as her sword cuts through thin air as I dodge her blow. I am not used to swords, or any weapon for that matter, I prefer to use my fists for fighting but I had no choice- just as Patricia didn’t. I jump out the way, landing daintily on my toes just like the dancer I am. The sword weighs me down and perhaps I don't appear as graceful as I believe I am- but it doesn't matter. 

A smirk graces my lips as I return the blow, pulling the sword up over my shoulder before following through, hitting the Victor of the 68th Hunger Games in the side as hard as I can- without any repercussions such as being killed. I laugh briefly, letting out a quiet cackle,  before stopping myself. 

:: template and graphics by: ali :: words: ? ::