{Pricked} by the Crown (VT!Mattio/Frankel/Kou)

[Tom]

J A I M E

The Crown of Thorns stabbed into his head more as the prince had left his kingdom for the terror of the wave. Destruction was made to the kingdom that had already been broken. The memories of all the people within were chained to him. The chains pulling at his emotions wouldn't let go. The fallen prince ran and ran as fast as he could, but the wave of destruction was clear. The wave hit with such a force that the fallen prince thought that he was dead. Death by a wave, what a way for the prince to go. First the queen was killed in the games and then the prince would just happen to die by the wave of terror that came upon the kingdom of failures. The prince would just have to accept his doom and despair. Accept it and pray that ripred have mercy on his soul and send him to where the queen resided in.

Unfortunately for him, ripred had other plans for him. The chains that held him down were broken and Jaime was breaking even more than he had before. The wave pushed him to the outer edge of the district. His arm felt bent up in all the wrong ways, just like the mangled bodies of his parents. Once the water went away, the prince ran home to check on the people who he had left behind. Please don't leave me. Please don't. The home was destroyed. rubble was everywhere. The fallen prince looked through the mess, cutting himself here and there trying to find the only people that belonged to his kingdom. The mangled bodies of his parents were the first thing he found. Tears flowed on, but the prince continued his search for the last person that understood him. The older sister that was left with him. The glass cutting at his hands, yet he pushes on letting blood flow freely from his hands. That's when he found the body. Neck cut so deep that it made Jaime want to puke from the scene. Tears flow from his eyes as the prince had lost the only kingdom that he had known.

It took a few days before he was found. Blood that had poured out of his hands had been wrapped by his own dirty shirt. His arm that was most likely broken was in a makeshift sling that training had taught him to do. The fallen prince was alone in the world. Chains that held onto him were gone, yet the crown of thorns grew bigger and bigger. The memories of the kingdom of glass was gone. Only death and destruction fit into their place. Jaime hadn't lost just his queen, but everything that he had once had. Alone and angry at the world. The relief center didn't do much of it's job. There was no relief for the fallen prince with the crown of thorns. The fallen prince's thorns poked at his head, just waiting for all the memories to flow to him, but Jaime didn't want to listen to them. Jaime wanted his home. Jaime wanted his queen. Jaime wanted everything to go back to normal, but everything was gone, except for him.

Why me? Why must I live on?

Jaime wasn't exactly alone. Other Cheyne's had shown up at the relief centre, but Jaime hadn't even spoken to them. The fallen prince just sat in the chair quietly. Everything was gone. Everything he had known was gone. Everything. The boy wouldn't let a tear slip down now, not in front of the entire district. Not in front of the victor who had been in the games with the queen. Not in front of his cousins who probably didn't know what Jaime had seen. The mangled bodies coming back into his vision. His only thoughts telling the image to go away. The victor was here. The victor was there to help during his stop on the Victory tour, but Jaime knew no one could help him. No one could anymore.

Jaime had watched Atticus Manor ever since he entered the room. The prince wanted to go over and kick the guy in the shin, but that wasn't how a prince should act. A prince had to be strong and powerful without action. A prince had to be able to back up his words when needed. A prince had to think out his words before speaking, but the chains were gone. Jaime had no chains or rules that he could abide by. Jaime's voice was weak, but he still spoke up to the victor. "Atticus Manor." Jaime may be only fifteen, but his mother and father always said he spoke like a prince. Formal, yet comfortably. Though, his mother and father never heard him speak to anyone he disliked. Unfortunately for Atticus, Jaime didn't like him. The fallen prince wanted to see the victor kneel before him and beg for forgiveness, but that wouldn't ever happen. Jaime felt the crown of thorns prick his forehead, yet Jaime could see that Atticus had his own crown of thorns. Atticus and Jaime were similar, yet different. Crowns of thorns upon their heads, yet two tales of despair before them. A smirk pulls at Jaime's lips as he introduces himself, "I'm Jaime Cheyne, you know brother to Hettie Cheyne, the girl that you helped kill one way or another."

Made by Frankel

[mat]

"FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE, A VISION OF THE FUTURE'S

GETTING HEARD BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE."

Hearing of the destruction in District Four made Atticus Manor hesitant to go there on the Victory Tour. He only heard the rumors of how bad the damage was around there. He wouldn’t be surprised if a fraction of people in the fishing domain weren’t able to survive.

Kite and Hettie, those were the two names that he’d have to remember as the train quickly made its way to the disastrous district. After the bloodbath, Atticus only saw Hettie once. When Nell, Sol, Astrid, and he had an encounter with Iain, Cecelia, Hettie, and Insanis. It was so quick, but he couldn’t forget the red hair. It haunts him, just like all the other horrible memories that have embedded themselves into his mind. Atticus saw Kite twice. Once was during the first day, where again, his allies encountered him and others as the stood near the corpses of the first three tributes dead. Then, the blind man escaped alongside Celia the day that the Cornucopia was set on fire. He didn’t know either of them as well as he knew a few others, but they are still included in the bar-bell burdens he feels every day.

As they arrived in District Four, Atticus was horrified. The arena he was in a short while ago was destroyed with velvet liquid everywhere you turned. But the district faced natural disaster. Rumors didn’t compare to what Atticus saw before his eyes.

Atticus bit his lip as they continued to approach the District. He was told that he’d go up to the relief center the District has set up to see the people of District Four, specifically, the relatives of Hettie and Kite. First the death of their loved one, and now the destruction of the only place they’d know to call home.

He walked into the center hoping that he could come and go unnoticed. Atticus could feel his heart pump out nervousness throughout his body. Inhalations were torturous as he felt sick to his stomach walking around. The man felt the pain that has been spread around the District. Usually, exhaling would be calming to him, but now, it only weighed him down.

But as seconds turned into minutes, Atticus felt confident that he wouldn’t be afraid. He could just talk to Kite’ and Hettie’s families, see what he could do to help, and leave.

A sigh of relief came out of Atticus’s mouth too soon when he heard his name called out from near him.

”Atticus Manor.”

His heart sank to the floor, and the nerves blanketed him once more.

”I'm Jaime Cheyne, you know brother to Hettie Cheyne, the girl that you helped kill one way or another.”

He matched the name to Hettie’s face and voice almost immediately when he saw the boy. Instead of being unwilling to piss on your flaming body, I’ll take a shit next to your grave. As much as he wants to forget her words, they stuck to him like glue.

Atticus was afraid to make eye contact. He took a quick glance to his side, and when the boy’s eyes connected with his, the victor knew he didn’t have much of a choice other than to speak.

”I’m truly sorry for your loss,” Atticus spoke as if he was a robot reading his code. He basically was. That was the only phrase that Atticus could remember to say to relatives of the twenty-three dead.

Hopefully they couldn’t see through his scripted voice; he really didn’t know what to say.

ᙖᖇIᗩᖇ ᙖᒪᙓᔕᔕ YOᙀ <3

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

R O N N I E

Witnessing every recurring event of the chaos that struck his District, Ronnie was unfazed, the district deserves a cleansing. As long as his brother wasn’t one of the many hundreds dragged to his early grave, he didn’t care and during the terror, Reggie was at his side so his presence assured him. It was the shadow that caused this. The shadow that has been tracking his brother’s every move, ready to pounce and take his life. For so long Ronnie has fended the shadow away from his brother and so in fury, it sent a natural disaster to his homeland…again failing to meet the purpose.

Instead hundreds of lives taken, families torn apart and buildings destroyed. His own house flooded downstairs, fortunately a mere small wound to compared to the homes closer to the ocean. A couple of weeks drying out can solve it while others have months to rebuild their livelihoods from scratch. Most of his family were safe, except the branch that had already faced terror before the wave came. Henrietta’s family, Henrietta the maniac with the hollow head. Ronnie believes her lack of planning helped with her demise. She played around too much in the arena and didn’t organise a single thing. Becoming allies with those from the lower Districts, two little children to add to the stupidity. The girl had wished her death as soon as she came out of that bloodbath far too prematurely. Having watched over the footage with Reggie, the pair of them strategized together so they know they’re ready if their name is ever plucked from that glass bowl.

Following Henrietta’s predictable death, the majority of her family was wiped out by the wave. The rich side of the family. Ronnie’s illegal empire had been funded by their generous gifts and now the money wouldn’t be coming from them, only the young one survived and of course he would have inherited everything, even if the house was destroyed, there must be some wealth hidden away somewhere. Coming up with a genius idea, Ronnie suggested to his parents that they become Jaime’s guardian so hopefully they would be able to get their hands on the hidden cash. Even if the kid is just a year younger than him, Ronnie will be able to manipulate the broken cousin.

Flooding the District, many from different areas have come with their hands to help rebuild and as soon as Ronnie heard, a business idea struck. So many new potential customers to sell his substances too. Instead of helping remove rubble or any other back breaking tasks that Ronnie has been asked to do, he has instead been wandering around the relief centre, slyly advertising his business. So far, he has found out that the District Six citizens are keen buyers while the District Threes aren’t exactly a target audience.

Today he has been notified that the shit faced District Three victor, the one who won Henrietta’s games has blessed his face at the relief centre. He knows for a fact if his cousin Jaime sees him, he’ll likely tear him down and that is a fight Ronnie is eager to see. Sneaking a bundle of sandwiches from the volunteer’s tent, Ronnie goes on a scavenger hunt for his cousin and the victor.

Lighting up a cigarette, he sucks on it while he walks alongside the never ending tents of the injured, so many mangled faces. Walking into the centre, his prize reaches his eyes as both Jaime and the victor are identified. Heading towards them, he is able to catch the small talk, hoping it unfolds into a great battle.

”I'm Jaime Cheyne, you know brother to Hettie Cheyne, the girl that you helped kill one way or another.” Even though Henrietta’s performance was an utter embarrassment, Ronnie knows that the shit faced District Three would have never had a chance if he had faced her alone.

”I’m truly sorry for your loss,” Sighing, Ronnie knows too well that he probably doesn’t mean it. How automated, who wrote that down for him?

Moving towards Jaime, Ronnie shoves one of the sandwiches in his hand. ”Eat kid.” Turning around to the victor, he’d remove his cigarette, blowing the smoke into the victor’s face. A smirk lines his face as he offers one of the sandwiches to him. ”We know you don’t mean it, so just don’t bother.”

As soon as the cigarette's smoke dispersed from the victor's face, his appearance lights up Ronnie's eyes. "Well you look at lot hotter than you do on the television screens."

[kousei ♚]

IVY

I hate this.

First, Hettie died and now so many people have been swept up by the tsunami and left to drown under the weight of their own burdens. I was among the lucky ones, my burdens didn't tie me down and I was not touched by the wave of disaster that left houses in tatters and lives in ribbons. There was no need for me to find high ground or flee to shelter because I was all the way on the other side of the damn district. I was lucky, for once.

My heart sinks when I think of the people that weren't so lucky. Newt lost his eye and the remainder of his pride, all but one of Hettie's remaining family members were killed and now I'm left with nothing but emptiness and I feel hollow. I think I've lost my only friend in Newt Krearns because he doesn't talk to me any more.

Just the thought of it and tears threaten to prick my eyes but I remember who I am and quickly wipe my face. Tears are a sign of surrender and I do not surrender.

The sun hits and it suddenly dawns on me what day it is - Atticus Manor will be in the district. A warrior among men, a victor among tributes. I look up to the sky and tears sit on the edge of my eyes but I wipe them away with a single swipe of my arm. No. I am hollow, lost in a three dimensional plane between envy, hate and awe when the name Atticus Manor breaks into my mind with the rising sun.

Envy because he possesses the temptations and promises hung over all of our heads in the career centre. Everyone desperate but no one dares make the grab; thousands of adoring fans and more money than you know what to do with. It would be a guaranteed permanent escape from the cycles that define all of ours lives. The cycle that define my life.

Awe because I could only stare wide eyed at the screen when I saw him pierce his spear into Eryn's neck, ruthlessly butcher his own ally, slay his own district partner and then banish his final opponent into an early grave. Sitting in front of the screen, I watched what he did right and what he did wrong, I ticked all the could haves and should haves and for a lower non-career district he honestly scared me.

Hate because he came out of that arena and now the Cheyne name is ruined; now I'm ruined. More ruined that I had thought so previously.

I immediately know where he will be and my movement is automatic. Donning a white sunflower dress and white sandals, I take off across the ruined road. I gingerly step across the rubble of everyone's livelihoods and the plethora and shattered hopes in fear they don't prick my feet; I may as well be stepping on a field of broken glass. Even I am wary of the consequences, however, I know I must venture onwards. Each step is an age, every heartbeat is a warning but before long I make it to the relief centre where he is supposed to be.

I step through the mouth of the dragon, ignoring the beating heat from the sun and side stepping the tents and the injured, everything irrelevant phased out. Every heartbeat is a warning and it's stuck in the loop, a constant cycle he killed four people, it should have been Hettie, he stole the crown. Seventeen years old and I still ignore the valuable lesson to always follow your heat. I chuckle to myself at the thought.

I find the room and in the corner of my eye I spot the familiar features. Red hair, short stature and a cold fury that could freeze over hell itself. I'm not a fool enough to miss my own cousin and Hettie's remaining brother. The weight of the games and natural disaster all piled on one pair of shoulders - it's not surprise his anger feels almost tangible before I've even approached him.

I spot another cousin, someone who's name I can barely even remember but it starts with an R and ends with 'Cheyne'. He's a large question mark, unseen and unknown with no first impression.

And then I spot the centre of attention and my heart rises into my throat, I swear if I speak I'll throw it right up. Sharp jawline, short hair, a head weighed down by the metaphorical crown of bones. He's stolen the apple held over all our heads in the training centre and took the bite we've all hungered for since we were twelve. I'm lost between the three-dimensional plane of envy, awe and hate; I clearly have nothing to say. He wears the hollow crown made of the bones of twenty three and the thought that a Cheyne forms that collection hits me.

No tears prick my eyes this time.

I inhale and my knees stop threatening to buckle under me. I step through the almost suffocating anger between the self-proclaimed prince and the true king and the ambiguity of the cousin who's name I cannot remember. Every heartbeat a warning (he killed four people, it should have been Hettie, he stole the crown) and every step an age - I ignore it all.

"I'm Ivy Cheyne," to my relief there is no tremble in my voice, "and I do not blame you at all." A bold declaration to make, I won't take back a single word.

[Tom]

J A I M E

It only took a second. A second was all that was needed to make his anger flourish within his smaller body. Atticus Manor was no king compared to the crown they gave him for being a loser. Hettie should have been queen and Jaime her prince, but she was dead. Dead and buried under the ground, soaking up the water that probably tore the land apart. The world was angry at her death. The tsunami was the signal that up in whatever afterlife she had moved onto to, that she was mad or worse pissed off. Jaime remembered the threat he heard his sister say on the the cameras to Atticus. It's all Jaime wanted to do when he heard the words fall from the victor's lips like it meant something, when truly it didn't. ”I’m truly sorry for your loss,”

If the king had been so sorry for his loss. Something would have been done in Hettie's honor, but nothing was. Only a tsunami had come to tear the rest of his shackles apart and set the prince free to learn about the world on his own. Atticus Manor was no king. Jaime Cheyne was learning that no one was royalty, they all were peasants under everyone's eyes. Ants that the god of the world could crush under his thumb at any point in time. Hell already froze over and yet here Jaime was, standing before the man who knew his sister and helped kill her in a way. The world was in chaos and his crown stung upon his head. Anger filled his blood, sorrows sank into his skin, and the pain throbbed against his skull, seeping into his brain, trying to control his every being.

Ronnie appeared faster than he could react. The little prince being nothing more than ignored by his cousin and the victor. The prince's fist clenching in anger, a fight threatening to break loose from his hold, but his mother's scolding still fills his mind. A prince wasn't supposed to lash out. A prince was to stay calm and collected. A prince wasn't supposed to be alone. A prince wasn't supposed to wish he was dead. Though, Jaime still did. He wanted to be reunited with his family, just as much as he wanted to live. Ronnie's voice only aggravated Jaime Cheyne more than he could believe. ”Eat kid.” He hadn't eaten in the past two days. The sandwich looked like a blessing, but he was always wary of his cousin Ronnie, something about the man always put him off in the wrong way.

”We know you don’t mean it, so just don’t bother.” The little prince wanted to praise Ronnie, but his cousin wasn't one for praise. Jaime wasn't the kind of kid to give it either. A prince doesn't praise anyone, they praise him. A kingdom of glass shattered before him and yet he still felt he deserved the respect needed. The next words he hears fall from his cousin's lips makes him scrunch up his nose in disgust. "Well you look at lot hotter than you do on the television screens." Hot wasn't the word he would use to describe Atticus Manor. Disgusting or vile were the closer of the synonyms to Atticus Manor. Jaime slowly bites the sandwich that he held before speaking. "You're disgusting, Ronnie." Never had he spoken truer words. His princely demeanor was breaking. The thinking before saying was vanishing before him like it was the last piece of chocolate.

That's when she decided to make an appearance in front of the prince. His icy blue eyes stare at her, expecting her to praise him like the king he was going to be. Another cousin that he knew the name of only by his mother and father's demands. Ivy Cheyne. A cousin who he had no clue about, until she came into the room and spoke to the victor of the 72nd. "I'm Ivy Cheyne, and I do not blame you at all." His insides grind and creak against one another. The pain of hearing a family member not blame Atticus for Hettie's death made him sick to his stomach. A shame is what she was to him. A disgraced cousin that he would never forgive, even if it meant her doom. Jaime Cheyne wasn't the type to give in and forgive and forget, no he was a prince who held his ground longer than any of them could. The only Cheyne remaining who can hold a war upon the field of broken bodies and dead memories. A prince who had a piece of his mind to give to Atticus Manor, but first the boy was going to deal with the disgrace known as Ivy.

"Such a bold statement for a waste of breath. Atticus Manor is to blame. He's the reason they're all dead. He's the reason that I'm alone. Atticus Manor is nothing but a coward!"

The tension grew within his statement. Oxygen to the flame that was anger and sadness in his chest. The world was in chaos and all that the prince could do was let his life spiral downwards into a pit of anger and sadness. Jaime Cheyne was breaking inside and out, the crown of thorns upon his head the weight that he carries through his life. The prince wasn't done though. The fire upon his chest ready to burst out and engulf Atticus Manor until he perishes a slow and meaningless death. The prince was still the richest and most adored Cheyne left in the district, even if he was acting like a spoiled brat.

"Atticus, I despise you. You're nothing to me. When you die, people won't care about you. They'll be relieved that the scum of the earth has fallen and that they can finally move on with their own petty lives. You're nothing more than the dirt upon the ground."

A smile upon his face. Words spoken outloud in a fury of flames. The little prince's arm wrapped up in a cast. His form was tattered and broken, yet he still had the strength to tell Atticus Manor how much of a coward he truly was. The crown of thorns upon his head being carried like it was nothing, even though the weight was greater than anything else. Atticus was the reason he was alone. The tsunami was caused by Hettie's death, nothing could change that. It was how the gods wanted it. It's how Hettie would have wanted it. Suffer and then thrive. Jaime would follow in her footsteps, suffer and then thrive.

Made by Frankel

[mat]

"FOR BETTER OR FOR WORSE, A VISION OF THE FUTURE'S

GETTING HEARD BETWEEN THE BLACK AND WHITE."

Atticus was never a speaker, he could never stand and speak to people in hopes of them not looking at him differently. In fact, he expected it to happen like this. Even when it was from people he never knew the name of, Atticus felt intimidated when they stared at him with anger and sadness. His way of trying to apologize obviously was not the best route to take when talking to the family of a feisty red-head. Rewatching the games was not something that would help the young adult cope. There would be too much death, too much blood, too much gore. He didn’t even know how Hettie died. The only thing he knew was that Sol killed her ally, Cecelia, and she died one day after.

Alongside not being a speaker, Atticus wasn’t the best actor, either. This year had been one of the first where he felt a true, genuine emotion other than the boring, dull ones of his life prior to the Games. All in a week and a few days, Atticus would feel emotions that he’d never felt before. He’d felt sad when he witnessed his allies and innocent people die. He’d feel pain whenever a mutation or fellow tribute cut their claws or blades into his body. For the first few days, at least, he felt happy that Nell, Astrid, and Sol hadn’t killed him as Atticus was only dead weight for their allyship. Atticus felt angry when he realized several of the tributes ganged up on three innocent others on the first day. New emotion, or the realization of an emotion, on its own can be overwhelming, but to Atticus, a compilation of so many made it hard for him to understand which ones he needed at what moments. He needed to give a feeling of sincerity, not just the dull emotion of someone trying to read off of a script.

More mean stares and glares rolled in my conversation with the Cheyne-relative.

”We know you don’t mean it, so just don’t bother.” a different voice called out, one that sounded angry that I was even present in the Centre of Relief in District Four. Another male gave Jaime a sandwich and demanded he eat it. From the personalities he witnessed in just the past minute or two, Atticus realized how much sense it made that they were relatives to Hettie Cheyne.

”Well, you look a lot hotter than you do on the television screen,” at first, Atticus thought he was talking to someone else around him. Beauty had never been a trait that Atticus believed was in his genetics. He thought to himself that it must be the sarcasm kicking in from the male. He didn’t know whether to smile or be grateful for the compliment or to not react at all. It took a moment, but Atticus furrowed his brows towards the boy, using it as a way to show his confusion about the statement.

”You’re disgusting, Ronnie.” Jaime says. Obviously if this ‘Ronnie’ character had sincerity, the younger one had opposing opinions, similar to the opinion that Atticus has of himself.

A fourth party made her way into the conversation. ”I’m Ivy Cheyne, and I do not blame you at all.” Her voice had a different tone than the other two. It seemed to include some decency. At last there was a person who understood the way Atticus felt. He felt helpless toward the fact that Hettie died. He wasn’t there, so how could he change it? A breath of relief came through Atticus’s mouth. Still, however, with three Cheyne’s against one Manor, Atticus still felt like they were outnumbering him in a bad way. He expected another to pop out at any second, but instead, one of the present ones raged.

”Such a bold statement for a waste of breath. Atticus Manor is to blame. He’s the reason they’re all dead. He’s the reason I’m alone. Atticus Manor is nothing but a coward.” Atticus’s heart dropped down to the pit of his stomach, just as it had every time he saw a death, every time he killed, every time he barely made it out of a day with survival. It hurt the victor to see someone with so much anger and pain because they lost a close person in their lives. He wished he could change that, he wished and wished and wished, but there was no going back. The damage had already been done.

It took Atticus too long to think of what to say because just as he opened his mouth to speak out toward Jaime, the rant continued to rage on. ”Atticus, I despise you. You're nothing to me. When you die, people won't care about you. They'll be relieved that the scum of the earth has fallen and that they can finally move on with their own petty lives. You're nothing more than the dirt upon the ground.” It, once again, hit him like an axe to the chest, and it ripped through Atticus. Keeping a brave face on is the piece of advice he was given, but there was a familiar emotion that prevented the victor from doing so.

There was only one word that Atticus Manor could use to describe the atmosphere around him. Sufferage. He’d been in this atmosphere once before, and he can remember it like it was yesterday.

Atticus knew what to do to help make a horrible situation better. It was the same idea that he had when Iain Miristioma mourned the burning body of Cecelia.

Comfort.

Atticus didn’t comfort Sol for killing Cecelia. He didn’t have to comfort Cecelia as her body turned into ash from Sol’s flaming weapons.

He comforted the person internally and externally affected. When Atticus stood behind Iain as he witnessed Cecelia burn, something changed inside of him. It was the emotion of sadness, and that’s why Atticus comforted Iain. Even though Atticus only felt a fraction of the pain Iain did, comforting him as he watched Cecelia burn became an instinct that helped the victor, too.

”I think..” Atticus hesitated to finish his sentence. He had to choose his words wisely this time, or he could get a bitchslap like the one he gave Sol after he killed the girl from Eight.

”Hettie would want you to carry on, yeah? She might not have used those exact words, but she’d want you to be brave and move on?” Atticus directed most of his words to Jaime, but he let his voice shakily project to Ivy and Ronnie as well.

His words made him reminisce the fourth day of the games. However, Iain was a lot more gentile, and with a ticking time bomb in front of him, the victor prayed that his words were calm enough.

ᙖᖇIᗩᖇ ᙖᒪᙓᔕᔕ YOᙀ <3