pseudosmiles {victors}

[rook]

sat on a roof
named every star
shed every bruise and
showed every scar

My fingers dance two-step up the base of my skull, weaving my hair in a plait that is very much unlike me. I'm not inclined to make much of an effort tonight, but I do anyway, because I hate myself and I want something to feel good about for once. I try out a teal crop-top blouse, hand-selected by Five's stylist team for me personally. It's the kind of outfit that they have pointlessly suggested I wear for years, only for me to wave it away and settle for a baggy sweatshirt and jeans. I wouldn't have been caught dead wearing something so cordial on any other day, but today isn't any other day, today feels like change, and a change I want to embrace. I want to feel like I actually belong here in the Capitol instead of just being its prisoner, begrudging everything and anyone that resides in this warped paradise. Just for once, I should be allowed that much.

I don't think that I'm handling this well. The Quell twist was as sickening as it was shocking, and to see as many kids give up their futures for a long-shot at glory was not only distressing, but devastating on a personal level for me. I thought that my own tragic story would have put people off the Games, that they would have seen first-hand the horrors of an Arena. There was nothing glorious about my Games, there was no honor in my victory. My life now isn't desirable, it's not something to aspire to, it isn't worth killing for. They are naive mindless children, and I have failed them.

I was naive once, but now I am a shadow of the girl that I used to be, in days gone by so full of life and laughter, warm and friendly. Oh how she used to run, hand-in-hand with her little sister, doing her best to scam gullible businessmen with more money than sense, hijacking any machine worth a penny, fucking any guy who told her she was pretty. She too was mindless and stupid. She had no concept of loss.

Until she lost it all.

Those days are dust now, gone on the wind into nothing but whispers.

Then there is Eden. A girl who I have come to know and love, who I have often thought of as a niece, bound to me through my blood-sister, Lethe. I've seen her grow from a little girl into this remarkable young lady, and now she too has dissipated into the beyond, this media-storm that rips at the fabric of what we thought was safe, what we thought was sacred and untouchable. I never would have imagined in a million years that she would volunteer, not after what her mother went through, not after how guarded Lethe was in raising her, after everything she has seen on television and even first-hand, I would never have thought it. I suppose that life just keeps finding ways to fuck us over. We may be winners, but we all keep on playing the Game.

I feel a sickening twist in my gut whenever I muster the nerve to lay my eyes on Lethe.

She's someone I used to hate with a passion, but now she is someone that I have come to call my friend. To see her like this a few years ago, maybe I would have revelled in a selfish sense of irony.

Yeah, that about sums me up: so bitter that people turn their noses up when I walk past.

"Why is there blood on your knuckles?"

I didn't even know Phelix was awake at this hour, but then I don't suppose he is sleeping too well given all he's been through this week. I glance over my shoulder. He is dressed in oversized pyjamas that drape lazily over his feet. His hair is a bedraggled birds nest that very much resembles his fathers own thick mane. He wears an expression that Is impossible to read, a sad mixture of pain and distance.

I finish tying up my hair, and bring my hands down to eye-level, staring at the backs of my knuckles. I was up late last night down in the gym, offloading on a heavy training bag for a couple of hours, trying to get as much anger out of my system as I could. I guess a lot of it was angst, self-loathing, and fear, but I felt better for it. I've been thinking a lot about Diamond recently, and the guilt keeps me awake at night. Every time I think of her, I have to flush her out however I can. Sometimes that's punching a bag, sometimes it's punching a wall. Fuck they're still sore to the touch.

"Adult stuff." I say to him without giving him so much as a second look. I squeeze some minty green paste lightly on top of the bristles of my toothbrush, and start scrubbing at my incisors. He doesn't move, I can feel his presence behind me burning like another ghost demanding my attention, persistent and haunting until it gets what it wants.

"Don't talk to me like I'm a baby, Tish." Says the seven year old, mature beyond his years, but still a kid beneath his young wisdom. His sister is about to walk into her death, and he knows it. That's enough to make anyone grow up, I guess. Poor kid. I sigh, spitting into the basin and rinsing my mouth out with tap-water. I'm running late, and I don't have time to argue. I turn to him, folding my arms. He just stares at me, and I'm a little impressed at his resolve.

"You're still calling me Tish, so who's the baby?" I smile, my fingers run through his hair as I walk past him. He tries to bat my hand away, but I put more weight on him, until he ducks under and moves away, not amused.

"I'll be back later. Go to bed." I say to him as I try to find my jacket, "Please, for your mom."

He brushes himself down and nods, defeated, but also respectful.

He must think I'm strong, someone to look up to. He couldn't be more wrong. I dread to think that Phelix, who I helped deliver into this world midst snow and hail, would follow in his sister's footsteps one day if he thought this was all part of who he is. I am not going to let that happen, ever.

I leave behind the comfort of my temporary bedroom that has become less and less temporary as the years go by, venturing out into the grand expanse of the training center. I traverse the concourse of the fifth floor, my hand gliding across the handrail as I peer down the sheer drop at the centre of the superstructure, daydreaming of how easy it would be to flip over and fall to my death. Sometimes I need to remember how mortal I really am.

I pass the very spot where Kirito Miristioma snapped, and lashed out at Lethe. Two years ago? They all blend into each-other, it's so hard to tell these days. It wasn't long ago. He was distressed at the death of his brother, and seeing us triggered something primal inside of him. I've not seen a Victor act that way out of the Games before, and I'd be lying if I said it didn't ignite something inside of me too. Fuck, I mean I smacked him over the head with a wrought-iron vase, if that isn't seeing red then I don't know what is. Self-defence aside.

I'm not that girl. I mean, I don't know, I might be. I like to think I'm not. I've always been a survivor, I've always told myself that everything I have done is to stay alive. All the things I did, all the people I killed, it was all for me and Rose.

But I've gone beyond surviving, I'm fucking immortal now. No one can touch me without being swarmed by Peacekeepers. I want for nothing, I need nothing, I have everything I could ever need at a click of my fingers. That's my reward for being crowned queen of my Games, I get to live forever.

Only it's not right. If you're not fighting to survive, you're not living.

Blood on my knuckles, fights with other Victors, countless warnings from Snow. I'm on the edge, and I can't help but feel like I put myself in this position.

Because it's all I know. Because I need the fight. Because I feel alive.

The floors flash past as I descend past the ground floor and underneath, to where the Tributes train. The doors part slightly, and then slide open almost organically. The technology here is like nothing I ever worked with in the old days. I used to be able to break down and access any old machine I could find in Five, but I wouldn't be able to make sense of any of this. Fuck knows I've tried, but everything you knew before just becomes pointless.

There is a momentous offered in honour for the Victors, but there always is, and I'm no longer amazed by the excessive splendour laid our at our expense. There is the usual: Honey-glazed hams, dripping racks of lamb ribs, sizzling steaks hot from the grill. Oceans of gravy held back in porcelain reservoirs, forests of broccoli and rich piles of steamed cabbage. Drinks galore, from fruit punch to sparkling wines. I rove past the formalities, waving away the first three pointless people who try to talk to me and reaching for a glass of something sparkling and potent.

I move away quickly and find myself an opening of space. My eyes take in the crowd, Victor on Victor, once killers, now friends. I find it hard to grasp the concept of being part of this elite club for seven years now, but it's the truth. A lot of them used to be very cliquey, I could tell from the off, but these days it's hard to tell who is on good terms with who. I don't expect many of them are too fond of me, not least Kirito after our scrap, but also dickheads like Peridot and Julian. Who gives a fuck, honestly? I swig at my drink - Champagne I think? Passing the time by watching everyone else try to make awkward conversation with each other.

Landscapes change, people fall out, that much has always been a given. I guess none of us expected the magnitude to be at this scale though. Cricket was someone I used to look up to, admire to a certain extent. She was kind enough to invite me to the circus during my Victory Tour. She spoke to me like an actual person, rather than a celebrity. She understood what I had been through, in a way that not many other Victors could express. I'm not sure, our experiences and ideals were very different, but still we connected. I was terrified of her, naturally, but there was a fierce admiration.

Now she has evolved into something beyond her Career-loyalty to the Capitol, she is part of it. An architect to the demise of others. A Gamemaker. She's become one of them, part of the establishment, just like she always wanted I suppose.

I'm outraged, naturally, but what is there to say? Her mind is made up, and those kids have already been sentenced. What's done is done.

I spy the speckled mug of someone who I used to resent, but in more recent times I have found them a comfort. Mace isn't exactly the kind of person who I usually get on with, but he is a good listener, and gives good advice - probably because he's been through a shitstorm or two in his day too. I wonder what he thinks of all of this.

Saffron isn't too far from him, and I nearly throw up in my mouth. I don't believe what I read in the papers, nor what they say on TV, but you don't have to be a fucking genius to see what's going on between the pair of them. You only need to notice the way they look at each other, even the subtle shit. Romance is such a cancer.

And it did it's best to make me feel like I was dying.

I need another drink.

hope has its proof
your hand in mine, singing
life has a beautiful
crazy design

[Cato]

Harbinger Rhodes Twenty Two| Male | District Eleven

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like had I not stabbed Daria in the eye. Perhaps Weaver would still be alive. Maybe even Iain, and Carrita, and many others who have died after me. Just as I start thinking about that, I think of my daughter, Vera, and my wonderful wife Navya. I think of the good that's been happening, but it's not enough. I like to think of the times growing up before the reaping was even a thought in my mind when I would run around outside playing with my brothers. Crusader died first, and now I have to live with his killer. It's hard, but I get through.

Four Rhodes have entered the game, and right now only one has come out alive. Tamron isn't dead yet, and I hope he somehow survives. He did this to himself, and I still don't understand why. I don't know what made him think I could save him when I've failed so many times. I don't know anymore. Everything spins around, and the world is crashing around me. The ghosts of Someith and Heather glare at me. I killed them because I wanted to see Navya again, but I'm wondering if it was worth it.

Now Cricket is a gamemaker. She's controlling the arena that holds my brother. I can't blame her for Tamron volunteering, but I wonder why she's doing this? Is this how the career victors think? Is this an honor for her? Or is she just a stupid victor who wants to kiss President Snow's ass? I don't know, but what I do know is I hope Tamron makes it out alive for her sake, and if the unthinkable happens, I hope it's not one of her filthy creations.

I sigh as I move around pulling my jacket over my shoulders. It's nothing much, and it's not even really cold anymore, but I just want to stay away. Maybe I can become invisible. Just a speck on a wall that nobody can see. It's hard to move, hard to keep my head held high. All that I once lived for is moving away without me. Katelyn is gone, and Kirito is happy with the love of his life all while I'm stuck mourning the loss of those I care for. It's like a cloud is over my head, and the lightning tries to strike me. Honestly, I don't even know why I left my room. Perhaps I wanted some fresh air, or maybe I could find another victor who's willing to help me. Someone I can call a friend because I'm lost, and I don't know what to do.

A lot of food and drinks have been prepared, but it's not the same. I can't smile when I know that it's not worth it anymore. Sometime I wonder if my life is worth living. Why should I be here when I can't keep anyone alive? Every year it gets harder and harder, and I keep trying, but it's not enough. My leg is heavy, and it's hard to move. My joints ache. I feel like I could cry, but I can't bring myself to shed a tear because it takes too much energy away. I want to drink, but at the same time I know it'll make things worse. I'm not sure what to do anymore.

But I find a chair off alone, and I fill a cup with champagne. I've never had it before, so I'm not sure what it offers, but I'm wanting something, anything that can give me that spark of life back. I don't want to be here. I just want to go home. I want to go back to the games I lived through. I should've died, yet I survived. Now I'm trapped in a world all alone, and I truly feel like nobody even cares.

[googlefont="Nothing You Could Do:400"]

[rook]

just another time we're caught inside
every open eye
holding on tightly to the sides
never quite learning why
you'll meet me, you'll meet me
you'll meet me halfway

I drift through the social squalor, something poisonous always ghosting on my lips, a deep defence mechanism that everyone seems to label as spite. People like to put things in boxes, you see. It makes it easier for their stupid little brains to comprehend things when it's all categorised.

A long time ago, I was with a boy. He used to say all of the things that any self-loathing young teenager wanted to hear. He said I was the most gorgeous girl in the whole District, and that I had eyes that burned like the core of the earth. He said I was the only girl for him. Words that made the blood rush to my cheeks and sent my naive mind into a state of infatuation. I was fierce though, I often played it colder than I wanted to, made him work for it, and that's when he put me in a box.

As I push past gossipers and forage for more favourable finger-food, I try to push the things he said to me into the back of my mind, along with all the other useless, self-sabotaging shit I have crammed away and bottled-up, but I struggle. It's there, burning in my ears, like he's whispering to me again.

You think you're so complicated, but everyone has you figured out.

I chew on a few toffee shortbreads, something just to line my stomach so I don't get absolutely shit-faced like I did at the last big Victor event. That was the night Snow confronted me in the gardens, when he claimed that he made me what I had become. He tried to put me in a box too.

Damon, Snow, countless others, they keep trying to rationalise what I am, so that they can better understand me, but how can they? I've volatile, ever-changing. Messy. No one has me figured out, because even I don't have me figured out.

The best people don't try to understand you, they only try to understand what you're going through, and accept you regardless. I could probably count those people on one hand. Lethe, Mace, Diamond. Yup.

I spy a lonesome figure sitting in a single chair, astray from the tables, like it's his own little island, and there's this sea of discontent whirlpooling around him. His frame is large but sleek, and his smart formal attire compliments his mesomorphic figure. Yet he looms, staring into his drink with a distant expression.

I've never spoken to Harbinger Rhodes. I've had several opportunities to speak to the last of Eleven's famous-three, and in each I have actively avoided all contact with him. I suppose it's difficult. In the past, I've faced families of the Tributes that I killed, but Harbinger is a Victor; he's been painted with the same dripping-red brush that I have. He's done things. Maybe he'll understand, maybe he won't, and if he doesn't then I must be a really bad person, right?

Who can say? I'm not about to put him in a box.

Where there's Harbinger, there's usually Kirito and Katelyn, and although I would very much like to avoid the former, I haven't seen the 69th's Victor in some time, much to my annoyance. She's a pretty cool person and we share some similar views on things, plus she's hot. I'd very much like to speak to her instead of someone who probably wants to snap my neck.

I meander over to the man who's brother I stabbed, kicked, and drowned in a pool of mercury. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and my pride swells in my throat. I don't bother with a warm expression, Victors are pretty good at knowing a psuedosmile from the real thing.

"Hey, is Katelyn around?" I enquire with as much monotone as I can manage.

just another time that I go down
but you were keeping up
holding to a hope you undermined
never to be reversed

[Cato]

Harbinger Rhodes Twenty-Two| Male | District Eleven

The drink bubbles, and my eyes lock on the precious liquid inside. I've heard that it tastes good while some say it tastes bad, but who am I to judge the drink I've never tried before? It's so bubbly, and it takes my mind away from the world around for just a moment. My life was once worth living. Waking up didn't take a lot of effort. Carrying myself around was easy. Talking to people was easy. But now I'm just a spec of dirt drifting through the wind. I carry a burden not many understand. Twenty-three died so I can live, but it's more than that. Iain, Carrita, Weaver, Iona, Drake, Desimae, all of them sit on my shoulders. It was easier, but Katelyn left, and I don't know what to do. I don't see Kirito much to talk to him anymore. Perhaps his life is working out just fine for him. Tamron is fighting in the games, and I can't just sit around and watch him die, but I'm helpless right now. I don't know if anything will ever save him.

Finally, I lift the glass of bubbling liquid to my mouth, and I take a drink for myself trying to judge the taste. It burns my throat slightly leaving an awful taste in my mouth. This is nothing compared to the liquor I downed after winning the games, and yet I find myself guzzling what's left inside the glass. Letting it go to waste is wrong despite how awful it tastes. But it doesn't help me, and I fear it'll only make my body feel more numb. It's like a robot is living inside me controlling my every movement. I want to live, I want to be alive, I want to go back to times before winning the games, but it's impossible. I'm a celebrity of the Capitol. I can't even walk down the streets without people waving and smiling and whispering. I hear the hushed voices, and it's driving me insane. I don't want to deal with this anymore. I can't imagine living a life without Tamron by my side. I sit the glass down, locking my eyes on the floor - "Hey, is Katelyn around?"

I raise my gaze, and find myself staring into the eyes of Patricia. A victor. Someone who's been through what I've done, but it hurts me looking at her knowing that she killed my brother, Crusader. Seeing her is hard, and knowing that she's only asking about Katelyn makes it worse. I don't know where Kate ran off to, but I need her now more than ever. I need her more than Kirito, more than Navya, more than anything in the world, but I can't find her. I shrug my shoulders not sure of what to do, or what to even say. I've never talked to Patricia, I've never asked her if my brother suffered. I've never asked her what his last moments were like, but drowning in the lake had to have been terrible. I sigh trying to take it all in. Trying to figure out what to do. I shake my head, and turn away. Maybe talking to her will help. Maybe it'll save me from myself. I take a deep breath before turning back towards her, "I wish I knew. She never talked to me before disappearing. I've accepted the fact that she might be dead. Still doesn't stop me from believing she's alive."

ooc notes go here

[googlefont="Frijole:400"]

[rook]

absence is most defined and felt at first
it's the shadow on the ground as you glide by in your hearse
but time it devours your shapes and your edges
all memories bent to suit our hidden agenda

The weight of his gaze is heavier than I was prepared for, and I feel it full-force on my conscience, weighing down on my chest with such a pressure that I exhale through my mouth slowly. He is solitary, a lone soldier, so far removed from what he once was, placed in a world where he has no purpose or belonging. He won this - this is his grand prize, the one he fought for his whole life. That's Careers though, right? They have this warped goal that they all strive to, discarding morals and decency in a quest for a tainted glory, and once they win it, they realise how futile it all is. Only, he's not a Career, is he. He's from Eleven. Yet everything about him screams otherwise.

I can't speak for Harbinger, but he looks so out of place, a melancholy titan sitting on a hill, watching aimlessly at the tiny little Capitolites, who in turn have a fruitless purpose. Does he pity them? Does he envy them? I can't read him, his expression is stone, and he is a greek statue, trumphant, magnificent, the embodiment of physical perfection, so great that even when sitting down he dwarfs me.

When I ask about Katelyn, it's nothing more than a cold shrug, and a stare into my soul. He is probably judging me just as much as I am judging him. His disregard for my query chills me, because I know for a fact that Harbinger is close to Katelyn, and in that expressionless motion he either is confirming that he has no time for me, he has no time for her, or both. I wouldn't be surprised if it was the former, but there's just a hint of something going on that is beyond me, and I'm intrigued.

"I wish I knew. She never talked to me before disappearing." His voice is deep, like steel. There's a lump in my throat as he coolly mutters that last word, and I fold my arms close to my chest. People don't just disappear, and Katelyn is a Victor, that makes it even more difficult. The only time high profile citizens vanish is if they've dropped dead, or done something horrendously bad.

I shift my stance onto my other foot, avoiding his gaze sporadically, only making eye contact briefly every few seconds. I'm on edge, call it lingering instinct - I killed his brother after all.

"I've accepted the fact that she might be dead. Still doesn't stop me from believing she's alive." He follows up, and I look away from him at that. Dead? Ripred, what the fuck could have happened to lead to that? She seemed perfectly fine the last time I saw her. I hide my concern behind sips of my drink, glancing around the room for a life-ring, but I'm on my own, drowning in this heavy revelation and my own dripping guilt.

"Why would she be dead?" I ask, "That just doesn't make sense."

But when does anything?

and know you flow through our hearts over and over again
in a sea of blood that flows through our veins
and still can't quite believe
we'll never see each other again
and that tears me apart
over and over again

[Cato]

Harbinger Rhodes Twenty-Two| Male | District Eleven

The moment I speak, I can't help but wonder if I said the right thing. Katelyn might be dead, but I want to believe she's still alive. It's just strange knowing that she's gone missing. That she's not here when she's needed the most. And now I have Patricia wondering if I know anything more about her. I'm not good at talking, and it's hard to look at someone when they murdered someone I loved. I'll never forget that dreadful day, but I have to push everything to the side. I have to pretend that all is okay when deep inside it's not. I don't want to hate her, but it's hard because I genuinely want to get to know her as a person, to learn more about my brother's last moments alive, yet this conversation is far from it. I didn't talk to her when she came to district eleven after winning the games. I couldn't. It hurt too bad to look at her knowing that my brother's blood is etched within her. But we both have killed, and we both lived.

She asks why she would be dead, and states that it doesn't make sense. I find myself looking around, my heart races rapidly inside my chest. I never know what to say, and perhaps that was the wrong thing to say. Why else would Kate just disappear? Something had to have happened to her. And I want Patricia to know that the reasoning is there. That she's vanished from the face of the earth. It's hard to escape district eleven, and it's even harder to escape from the Capitol when the press is always pushing us around like we're dolls dressed to their liking. But what if she's not dead? What if Patricia knows something that I don't know? What if she knows where Katelyn is? I shake my head slightly trying to take everything in.

I take a deep breath locking my eyes on the ground. All I want to know is more about the death of my brother. I want to know what it was like, but Katelyn is more important because she won the games, and I don't know where she is. My shoulders tighten, and with a quick glance I lift the bubbly drink to my lips before sending the poison down my throat once more. She told me not to drink, that it would do more harm than good, but she's not here right now and I want to find her. If Patricia knows something that I don't know, I need to find that out. I need to know. To help her. To find my friend. A heavy sigh leaves my chest as I turn my gaze towards her once more. "I haven't had contact with her in a long time. I don't know if she's dead or not. I've been hoping to see her every time I wake up."

ooc notes go here

[googlefont="Frijole:400"]

[Arrows]

Kirito Miristioma

Where does fantasy
end and reality begin?

Its all a metallic storm of constant clicks and faceless voices. Questions quarrel against questions every step I wander outside the bounds of my old prison cell. The demons taunt me from the darkness while humanity haunts me from behind spotlights. Even in day while my dreams are left to wait for my next slumber, I cannot confirm with clarity what is real or fantasy. Are the faceless faces which flicker like phantoms behind the Capitol cameras real, or are they delusions delivered by my most damaged area. Harbinger consistently affirms my beliefs of what is actual to what is abstract. He helps fill the hurt from the hole Katelyn has left gouged in my heart. I only hope I do the same for his suffering soul, especially with Tamron's face being the next of kin to offer themselves up to the teeth of death. If only that were just my dreams as well...

I'm not entirely sure when Harbinger leaves for the annual victors gala but I don't move with him. Endless pieces of papers piled in large stacks surround me and fill my room. Some hold a sentence, others hold what could be one hell of a twisted guide to my brain. From my frozen fixation upon my sea of silken sheets several darkly written words reach my gaze. Death. Horror. Eden. Lethe. Tamron. Nothingness. Cricket. They all always come back to Cricket written in the reddest of inks. She is the heart of all this horror yet, she was suppose to be one of us. Now she sits in hell as Lucifer who has fallen oh so far. 

A knock stifles the silence of my room and a stream of light spills across the floor from the hall. A face forms from the fictitious fog, Zell holding another signature suit. It makes my skin shift into ice. 

"I'm sorry to disturb you Kirito but you really should be getting to the gala. There are many people who want to speak to the most recent Quell Victor about the events to come."

A slight pause pierces the space between us.

"What could they possibly not know? Whats going to come is fifty one children are going to die and one will never be able to forget."

Another stretch of silence follows my chilling clarification. For once Zell seems utterly empty of words. A sigh follows me stranding from my jungle of sheets and my hands take the suit into their grasp. I turn back to Zell again after examining it even closer. 

"Was this design really necessary?"

No response.

"Whatever. its fine. I'll wear it just please leave and let me get ready on my own." 

Steps of retreat swiftly follow my sentence and again the door falls shut. The change hardly takes any time, what takes an eternity is my own image staring back at me from the mirror. Every subtle sight of the suit upon me makes my spine shudder and shake as though kissed by the caress of a winter's wind. The inspiration behind its intricacy is beyond obvious. I'm wearing the 70th Quell. I hate it.

A deep darkness formed by bitter black is what produces the base of the suit, all while golden streaks spin in spiraling gears across the entire surface. Bright eyed and beaming a golden owl presents itself as the bow tie while a large ticking pocket watch dangles dangerously from the suit's exterior pocket. Yet what is the largest kiss of cruelty within the creases of this creation? Twenty three flaming throwing axes present themselves as pins where buttons normally sit, then to further this demonic production tiny letters forming the names of each dead tribute are engraved upon each axe just as I had done the night before the finale. My body nearly crumbles. If there was ever a time I didn't feel as though I was the living memory of my games its eradicated. In this moment I am solely one thing, not a fiancee, not a soon to be father, not a member of District Eleven. I'm Kirito Miristioma, Victor of the 70th Hunger Games Quell. A real monster. 

Outside the seclusion of my room Zell and my styling staff squeal at the sight. My anger finally reaches a volcanic head. 

"Why the hell did you make this? I'm already drowning in memories because of the constant harrassment by the paparazzi and now this?!?! What the hell Zell!?!?"

Their excited screams shut off as though on a switch. Only after several seconds of pure soundless mouths does Zell speak up.

"Because of the attention. Just remember the more attention you have the less other Districts have. Think of all the sponsors you can get! Think of your tributes! I know you want to help them and this outfit can help! Even as gruesome as its heart is."

A million refutations wallow up within the walls of my throat but they never materialize beyond my gritted teeth. I give up and storm past them to the elevator. As the door shuts I stare at the spit shined tiles. If wearing this outfit can help Tamron and Salome in anyway its a sacrifice of my comfort I have to make. Plus the outfit isn't what matters tonight. Tonight only several goals matter to me.

1) Find Patricia and Leathe then set things straight by apologizing, and accepting whatever anger is sure to follow from them.
2) Find out if anyone has heard from Katelyn.
3) Find out what the other victors think of Cricket's blatant betrayal. 

The doors slide upon, I breathe for a moment before stepping out into the well lit room. 

In seconds I am swarmed. Flashes flicker from every direction leaving me blinded in the assault. Surprised screams rise at the sight of my suit and I in reflex tell them to thank Zell. I lose track of time while I'm lost in the metallic storm. What seems like centuries spin by while I have useless conversations with pitiful people. With each fading second my smile shows more and more of its false nature. Thankfully the sound of another victor arriving distracts my assailants for just enough time for me to escape. 

Right away I make my way to the drinks. If I'm going to survive this facade hard liquor needs to mitigate with my blood. I find one of the strongest I can and let its scarlet contents sear my throat while I sip its seductive poison. I shut my eyes for a moment, I escape back home to the whispering willows and the warm sun's glow. Ikaia's twins toy around in the soil while the scent of corn husks waft on the winds. Oasis plump and ripe with the fruit of our love smiles in the sunshine's radiance. For an instance I'm free. Then I open my eyes again.

Across the room I spot Harbinger, however, as I approach my spine stiffens. Standing by his side as powerful as ever is one of the victors I respect, and now due to my failure at control, fear the most. For a split second I think to flee but I stop my feet from running. Some demons I can't just lock away within my mind. The real-life demons have to be dealt with. I take another swig of venom. 

As I approach I catch the rear end of their conversation and quickly piece it together. Katelyn. A pang of sorrow sits on my chest as I stand beside them. "Me too Harbinger." I say to somewhat breaking the ice. "Even here I hope to see her too. She always cared about the tributes, in a sick way I hoped this quell would bring her back. Needless to say that hasn't been the case. With that being said though, I don't think we can help wondering whether she's alive or not. I only hope she is."

For a second I consider apologizing to Patricia now but figure it would be better if it was done one on one considering the nature of the incident. Instead I give her a nod of greeting before my eyes quickly fall away from her's in shame. I've never planned how I'm going to talk to her about the whole incident but now that I'm here I only feel more certain I'll screw it up.

[rook]

i'm in the stakin' bar
i got debts, i'm a debaser
saturnz about to make love
and i'm just a heartbreaker

The soldier stares me down, his words are slow and sturdy, a grounded consideration is blended into each response. He is precise, careful, maybe even calculated. I don't know whether to trust Harbinger. He is masking a lot of himself from the world, and although I suppose that I am guilty of the same, he gives off this unmovable-object aura. He seems rigid and inward, yet there is no coldness in his eyes, there is some warmth there, I can sense it.

Victors don't go missing, they're the highest profile District citizens, property of the Capitol and tools of oppression and false-hope. Victors help control Districts, they're like a bridge between the Capitol and the people. Every Victor has value, I've learned that much so far.

Snow would never admit it, but he needs me - Lethe is Five's motherly figure that everyone looks at with a nostalgia of the District's better days, whereas I'm a warrior that people look to when they are afraid and need courage, I'm inspiration to a younger generation, and people listen when I speak. He needs me more than he needs Lethe, otherwise he would have made strong on his threats to my little sister.

I would imagine that Katelyn is a crucial part of keeping Eleven in check. As one of the worse-off Districts, tensions are usually much higher than in the lower-middle Districts such as Five, Six, and Seven. Eleven's precious Tri11ogy of Victors is integral in keeping protests and riots to a minimum. No Katelyn, no trio. No trio, no symbol of unity. They wouldn't have let her out of their sights, not like they did with Heron Kimberling.

Kate is a good person. I've only met her a few times, but from that very first moment I got a sense of who she was, and I could tell that she was very genuine. She must have gotten into some deep shit with the Capitol to think that up-sticks and running is the best option.

"I haven't had contact with her in a long time. I don't know if she's dead or not. I've been hoping to see her every time I wake up." He says, and my eyes flicker, reading over those last five words in the air above him. So, he was fucking her, huh? That's cute, sure. Certainly explains his solitude, but damn, what a dumb thing to do. I'm not judging, I'm sure whatever it was they had was heartfelt and genuine, but that's a dangerous game to play with the Capitol.

Ripred, was that why she vanished? Was she trying to protect him or something? Who knows. Only she does.

"Me too Harbinger." Comes a higher pitched voice, hanging, like it had been waiting for the right moment to speak. Kirito's arrival catches me off guard, and I become tense, hairs on my neck standing on-end. Calm down, Trix. Ripred, it's like it's in my nature to get defensive over the slightest thing. Hey, guess that's why I'm alive.

"Even here I hope to see her too. She always cared about the tributes, in a sick way I hoped this quell would bring her back. Needless to say that hasn't been the case." He says, putting it oddly. I can't see the logic in it really, not personally. I really couldn't give less of a fuck about my Tributes this year, they all volunteered to die, and that's whole different ball-game in my books.

"With that being said though, I don't think we can help wondering whether she's alive or not. I only hope she is." He finishes, and I swig at my drink. There's an awkward silence as he turns his head to me and nods uncomfortably. Last time I saw him, I had swung an iron vase around his head and was standing over his unconscious body. I wasn't punished per-say, but they told me that Kirito had some problems controlling his emotions. PTSD or something maybe, I don't know. His brother just died, I wasn't really judging him at the time, just defending myself and Lethe.

"Kate's alive," I say, staring down at what's left of my drink and deciding to neck it back, before reaching for the decanter and pouring myself another healthy glassful of fire-whiskey, "She's a survivor."

She's more like me than any other Victor I've met, and if she's out there in the wilderness, hiding, running, surviving, then I know she's fine. She's survived worse.

"We're all just trying to survive, right?" I look Kirito in the eye and give something of a smile, but I look away probably too soon. I'm not good at this stuff. Forgiving. It's like passing a kidney stone for me, but there comes a time where you just have to let go of your grudges, and Ripred I feel so much lighter for it.

with the holograms beside me
i'll dance alone tonight
in a mirrored world, are you beside me
distortion

[arx!!]

Justice
Fray

Apparently I'm on my way to becoming the next Katelyn Persimmon. The Capitol tabloids certainly have enough content, don't see why they haven't 'asked' me to be Panem's next Bachelor yet. I run my fingers over the gloss paper, the bright, bold letters asking the question on every Capitolite's mind: JUSTICE'S GIRLFRIEND? I'm unsure how they managed to fit pictures of me with nine different women on this 11 by 17 sheet, but the answer to the question is simple: No.

I toss the magazine aside with a sigh. I've always been aware of the camera clicks and flashes following me around. Some days I'll even turn to wave at them, give them a cheeky smile and maybe a wink. But apparently I'm getting rusty. I recognize a photo of Opal and I post-wedding-cake-raid. I'm wiping frosting away from the tip of her nose. If the photographer had waited a few moments longer they would've captured something much less tantalizing for the tabloids; she's got a real talent for making me trip over my own prosthetic.

I recognize a few other faces—Elara and I at the training center, Anastasia and I sitting at a bar, the back of Poppy's head outside my house, and others are just pretty faces whose names I've long forgotten.

I see a new member of my stylist team looking at me in the mirror as she fluffs my hair. She's giddy, clearly hasn't been in the game long enough to know that it fucking sucks. But she's got a question for me, like most newcomers always do.

"I think you and Opal would make a cute couple," she says, gazing pointedly at the magazine. "I read the article—you two have compatible star signs!"

It takes every ounce of control I have not to physically grimace at the idea. It's true, I think Opal is amazing, and yes, I do find her incredibly attractive, and sure the thought has crossed my mind and of course we would have incredibly talented and beautiful children but—No. Absolutely and ten thousand percent, no.

But it's so much easier just to let these people believe what they like, to play to their needs and desires. It's pointless to kill the light in their eyes. They're more like sheep than they are people; it'd be animal cruelty.

"Ah, well, then we must be soulmates!" I say, raising my arms in exasperation and chuckling.

She smiles brightly in the mirror. I imagine I've made her day. And I imagine she'll tell all her friends that Opal and I are "officially together!"—the same old harmless rumors that have plagued me since I got back home. I'll take that over harmful truths any day.

"Justice?"

I swivel excitedly in my chair at the bubbly voice, only to be disappointed when the face isn't Petelia's. All these Capitolites sound the same.

"Can I help you?"

She's got a look on her face that I've come to recognize over the years. It's the same face my mother has always worn when she looks at me—complete and utter disappointment.

"You're late," she says, sternly. She looks at me over her glasses with eyes that have been colored completely black. Her voice is still just as soft as Petelia's when she speaks—"You're quite the disappointment compared to the other Careers in terms of timeliness to these events."—but she certainly isn't wearing nearly enough pink or smiling as brightly.

"My stylist hasn't been in yet," I say, deciding that fighting this woman isn't really in my best interest. She scoffs and I think she rolls her eyes, though it's quite difficult to tell when she's got contacts that make her entire eye socket black. She mutters something under her breath as she turns away, telling me to dress myself like a big boy—"And I'll be sure to take care of your damn stylist."

The girl behind me gives a very small, soft farewell before rushing after her superior. And then it's just me, staring at my own reflection and wishing my last excuse not to go hadn't just walked out the door. I needed a stranger to keep me tethered to this room, away from--

I take a deep breath, groaning at the amount of effort it takes to get steadily to my feet. At 19 my body is already beginning to betray me. They don't ever tell you that. The Games analysts, the stylists, the escorts, the talk show hosts, the trainers, the other Victors—they never tell you just how tired your bones will be if you manage to be the last one standing. They don't tell you about the night terrors or how those night terrors will seize you even in your waking moments. They don't tell you just how exhausting carrying all that 'honor and glory' is.

They don't tell you how you'll become best friends with a bottle of booze. They never say that.

I grab a bottle from the top of my dresser and swallow down as much as I can before I need to come up for air. It sits warmly in my stomach as I grab the only shirt and jacket left in my closet after the ransack from a few days ago. Cricket had asked if I'd be her stylist, not if I'd give up every item of clothing in my room to dress up the new--

I take another long drink in the hopes that the thought of other kids dying in my clothes will disappear. It doesn't, of course. But I think at the bottom of this bottle I see just enough courage to get me out the door. I'm sure I'll find more glasses of champagne beyond that to keep me smiling through what I can only expect isn't the kind of party I enjoy attending.

I don't bother knocking on Opal's door as I pass. I hope she won't go. She's seen me make a fool of myself enough as it is, been there every time I was a fucking idiot and always cleaned up my messes. I don't want her to have to clean up the mess I know I'll make today. She shouldn't have to look after me. So this time I won't let her.

The elevator doors open and I pass off my now empty bottle to the Avox standing watch. The alcohol has already begun to do it's job as I fumble at the buttons and hit one too many. The doors stutter open again and I wave my apologies to the Avox looking on from outside. When the doors close I hum to myself to keep my nerves soothed.

I just need someone to talk to. Someone friendly, someone easy, someone well-known for good behavior, even when it comes to dealing with drunken idiots and assholes like me. None of my elder counterparts have ever stepped up to the plate in that respect—besides Opal of course. Katelyn was civil the first time we met and if she hadn't seemingly disappeared I may have actually been able to get along with her. I've always thought I should thank Ansgar for avenging my sister, but I find his personality even more boring than praying to a god that doesn't exist so I think I'll pass. It's hard talking to the guys here anyway—none of them are ever as interested in girls as I am. Though Mace seems to be lately and I mean, damn am I impressed. I bet he's into kinky stuff. I wonder if he'd ever be willing to share Saffron because I'd so be up for getting a slice of that cake, praise Ripred--

The elevator pings and I make sure to smile big for anyone who might be looking my way from the opposite side of the doors. The warm air and soft din of various conversations welcomes me and I'm immediately handed a fancy looking glass as soon as I step into the room. I search the crowd for familiar faces. Part of me hopes that Petelia, or Sardonyx even, will be here in the crowd, but after finishing my glass and bumping into a few people with a polite apology I finally give up. I can just be best pals with whatever is in this new glass that has appeared in my hand.

I don't know what makes me do it. Well, actually I do, it's the alcohol, but the conversation carries better and more clearly than all the others. I don't immediately recognize the voices, but when I find the faces that go with it I decide this is a good a time as ever, right? When I'm too drunk to remember why I hate District 11 victors so much or that I literally used the word 'grumpy' on live television to describe Patricia.

I sort of stare awkwardly over Harbinger's shoulder before entering the conversation with a smile on my face and a drink in hand. I force Kirito into a handshake as the words spill out of me.

"How do you even do that?" I say with astonishment as I bend to look more closely at his chest. "Just speak for so long without breathing like that?"

I straighten out and laugh at my own joke, patting him on the shoulder when I drop his hand.

"Absolute madman!" I chuckle, glancing between Harbinger and Kirito one too many times with a grin before realizing they don't seem all that amused. So much so that I decide that Patricia is actually the safest option.

"But, anyway, yeah, uh-- what she said," I say, quickly spinning to retreat to Patricia's side. I raise my drink in the air. "Surviving. I'll drink to that!"

I down what's left of my drink and laugh when I finish it off. It's better to laugh than it is to look further into their words. Katelyn gone? I'm not surprised. Careers know better than anyone how this game works. And I know well enough that Katelyn sure pulled at the restraints the Capitol placed on her wrists. They retaliated with a reality show and still she threatened to break free of her cage. I'm not surprised no one has seen her. And I am aware of just how strong Miss Kate is, but they're all wrong. There is no way she's alive.

But that's what is keeping them civil, right? Katelyn? The common thread in this conversation? That she is still kicking no matter how hard the Capitol pokes and prods her? Too bad I'm not willing to play along. Damn, I'm such an ass.

Luckily there is still another common thread I can tug at to keep me from getting punched in the face.

"Uhhh, right so, Cricket," I say, pushing through the silence with a raised brow and a new drink in hand. "You all hate her, yeah?"

Hatred creates stronger bonds than love anyway.

[   v i c t o r y   ]

[Cato]

Harbinger Rhodes Twenty-Two | Male | District Eleven

Sometimes I feel like I'm not good at making words make sense, and it feels that way as Patricia looks at me. Something is weird about it, but I just keep going on about what I'm trying to say. One day it'll make sense, and perhaps this is one of the ways the Capitol can twist my words around. They almost tore my little family apart once, and I can't let that happen again. My family is important. They're strong. I need them right now, and I shouldn't be at some stupid party while Tamron is fighting in the games. But I have faith in him. He's strong. I know he is.

To my relief Kirito shows up, and he says that he misses her too. Kate's such a strong person, and I've needed her more than ever. She's saved my life more than once. But I can't find her. Kirito can't find her, and we have to remain together. Together we are bond by the chains of murdering innocent souls to survive. It's just part of it. Part of the game, and now we have to stay together to stay alive. Living and surviving it's all I know, and it's all I'll ever know. I smile and nod at Kirito as the words enter the air knowing that he's a brother to me. Knowing that we've both done terrible things, hell all of us victors have done terrible things, but it doesn't make us terrible people.

"Kate's alive." Just hearing those words come out of Patricia's mouth makes me feel slightly better, but it's not enough to convince me otherwise. Yea, she's a survivor. We're all survivors, and yet I can't even figure out how to make this surviving thing work. I couldn't save people - does that mean they're weak? No. The strongest have died, but as a victor I feel it's important to stay close to those who wish to keep me alive. Those who can survive. Those who've been through it despite murdering my brother all those years ago. How many years has it been? Five? Six? Seven? I've lost track of time, and it makes it even harder to do what I need to do. I haven't talked to Patricia at all since she won the game. Never wanted to if I'm going to be honest. How can I look my brother's killer in the eye knowing that she's alive and he's dead? It's hard, but I'm going to try. "She better be."

"How do you even do that?" My glance turns away, and Justice is standing there grinning from ear to ear. While he didn't kill Weaver, I still want to hate him, but I know he did what he had to do. He wanted to survive just like the rest of us. He killed people. He's a survivor, and he's willing to drink to it. I shrug my shoulders. "Uhhh, right so, Cricket,"

I have mixed feelings about Cricket. I feel as though she's turned her back on us. That's she's abandon us. Taking on a role of a killer as the rest of us fight to keep our tributes alive - but Cricket was a killer long before she took her place as a gamemaker. I shrug my shoulders.

[googlefont="Irish Grover:400"]

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

♕ m a c e ♕

❝ one more word,
and you won't survive ❞

His styling team had finished early, which had given Mace extra time to hassle Saffron. He had not an ounce of anticipation for the evening's event but it could have been worse. He could have been putting Ophelia through her paces in the gym. Given a reprieve from staring at his sister - a walking ghost - he snatched it like a boy in a candy shop. He lounged in Saffron's room, hiding a curling iron when her stylist turned away and stealing a kiss from her when she'd just had fresh lip gloss applied. Small victories. That's all he'd ever known.

He bobbed his head at Ansgar on the way out, very nearly grateful. The District Ten Male styling budget now went primarily to him. Mace's outfits were being recycled, and every time they were washed, they got a little more soft, a bit more comfortable. Tonight he wore one flashy cowboy outfit which had once been stretched by his gut. These days, slimmer, it hung loosely, which was a major improvement. He walked more easily, holding Saffron's hand, letting her lead them into the soiree.

The champagne flute passed through his fingers, dropped on a window sill. It wasn't not long before he and Saffron are separated, each gravitating towards the victors. There's so many they each know now, but even the quantity can't obscure the black hole in the room. Mace scowled when he realized he'd unintentionally ended up beside Harbinger and Kirito. He knew, in his cold heart, that no one could force Katelyn Persimmon to do anything. If she left, it wasn't because someone did something, or someone didn't. She'd chosen to leave all of them. He did wonder sometimes, late at night, about her last conversations. Had she spoken to the District Eleven victors? Why hadn't she called him or Opal? What value was there in ever having met her, if he didn't even get to say goodbye?

It dawned on him slowly, one midnight. The fire crackled and once popped so loudly both he and Saffron sat up with a start. The canon. And in that moment, he flashed on the deaths of his allies: Denver, Alexander, Sawyer, Aesop. He saw all of them die, had a hand in it. Many victors did not watch the light fade from their allies' eyes. Perhaps they were brave and watched the recap videos but even so, it wasn't the same.

He'd thought about that, about the distance between death and reality, every day in the Capitol.

"Uhhh, right so, Cricket. You all hate her, yeah?"

Mace returns to the present, a heavy plate of appetizers in one hand and the other itching for his love. He's shoveling food into his mouth, the warmth steadying. Somewhere in this room Julian is laughing. Somewhere in this room Cricket is performing. Cricket, who he clearly did not know at all. Cricket, who had been his neighbor every spring for ten years. Cricket, who was still a little familiar, the way Ansgar was becoming familiar.

His guts feel like slush after a spring rain.

"I don't know."

Mace swallows a brie en croute whole, nearly choking on it and his words: "maybe she didn't have a choice."

The distance between death - (Ophelia, down the avenue in the Training Center, alone) - and reality. His gaze flicks to Patricia. Without Katelyn, he hopes she will be their voice. "Maybe we ain't got no choices left." He wipes his greasy lips off on the back of leather and fringe, and awaits their judgment.

[Arrows]

Kirito Miristioma

Where does fantasy
end and reality begin?

Its small, its subtle, but its there, and its a spark. A spark of hope to shimmer within the endless storm of my cracked core. A new sign that for once someone might actually be willing to say the words: I forgive you. To this day only once have they graced my artificial ears. Not from those I killed or from the twin brother who believes I have sent him squirming into my shadow. But from Harbinger, who despite all his anguish and anger, gave me the one thing a victor never gets. Forgiveness. Its the same for all of us. Its something we all will always share. Its something killing other children hinders. Its something grieving families don't give to their child or sibling's murderer. 

I force myself to return to rational thinking despite the relaxation of my surprisingly stiff spine. For all I could know the smile could be nothing more than a face for the others around us, she might still want to slit my throat when I finally get to speak with her face to face. Yet that doesn't seem like her, Patricia isn't someone who hides herself for the sake of others. Ever since I first saw her skin and scars illuminated the sweltering swirls of volcanic rock I've known. Patricia Valifierno is real. No one, not even the Capitol can erase that strength from someone.

"Damn right she better be." My voice chimes in following Harbinger's next mention of Katelyn's current condition. Alas, my mental focus soon shifts to the sudden sound of footsteps approaching. Again my spine stiffens to stone in anticipation of more metallic flashes and false voices, but instead a hand belonging to the body of fellow victor Justice Fray lands on my own with surprisingly strong force. His drunken state clearly display his thoughts on the evening, yet I'm thankful for the alleviation he brings from the talk of Katelyn's disappearance. 

A soft smile curves my cheeks as I give his exceedingly long handshake a shake of my own. "Long breaths, and saying exactly what comes to my mind when it does. Otherwise I always forget it." The other victor laughs before planting a few firm pats on my shoulder. I can't say I know much about Justice Fray because quite frankly, I don't. Aside from now our few conversations have been brief and the only information I have about him is from the games and the media. He's by far one of the Capitol's biggest obsessions and he has one major thing in common with both Harbinger and I. He knows the loss of family members to the games quite well. Other than that he's a mystery, and I can't help but wonder if he likes that. 

His words bring my mind back to the present as a chill suddenly freezes everyone's vocal chords. I don't really know how I feel about Cricket. Some pieces of me find what she's done repulsive, but other parts of me know that there must be more to the story. One way or another Cricket has always been kind to me, more than I can say for most. Still she is the one behind Harbinger's brother's torture. It all just seems too impossible to be reality, yet somehow it is. 

Another new shadow joins the circle as I see Mace appear by my side his voice just as harrowing as the last. Still, despite the mood of this meeting I am happy to see the older man. A flash of red brings my eyes to a girl nearby and I can't help the warmth I feel inside. When I first heard the murmurs of Mace and Saffron I played them off as nothing more than Capitol tabloids. I now have come to know otherwise and it only makes me happy to know Mace finally has happiness again in his own life as well.

I force my vision away from the girl who shares so much in common with me as those born from the twists of quells back to the others. I let another sip of my poisonous drink rip through my throat before entering the conversation again with my own voice. "Its possible Mace." I take another slow sip. "But I can't just believe we don't have anymore choices. Katelyn wouldn't so I won't."

[rook]

put me on the train for london town
take me anywhere, drop me anywhere
liverpool, leeds or birmingham
but i don't care

The infestation of Capitolites begins to agitate me. Their voices get annoyingly louder the more they drink, and their piercing laughs set me on edge, like nails on a chalkboard. They throw their heads back, bleating like sheep, a false amusement at a predictable joke, a boring story, or some not-so-controversial gossip. It's a routine to them, it's all they know - Making smaller and smaller smalltalk to other ludicrously dressed counterparts, spewing shit from their mouths, pretending to laugh until their staple-gunned cheeks start to ache.

The music seems to become more up-tempo as the party kicks into life, and I really wish I was anywhere but here. This is like everything I despise about Capitol culture rolled into one horrific parody. Celebrating one of our own becoming a Gamemaker, like we should be proud of her. Like we should congratulate her.

I don't care what anyone says, she's one of them now.

Justice Fray staggers into our conversation, with all the elegance of a bull in a china shop. He stinks of a sickly alcohol, and his dazed expression tells me he is past the point of caring about that. The blaring music, accompanied with his off-balance posture and annoying leaning makes me want to turn around and find something else to do, but instead I lift my glass to my mouth and take several forceful glugs of strong spirit.

There's nothing worse than an unwelcome drunk intruding on conversation, but Justice is a Victor now, this is all new to him. He's probably still dealing with all the emotional baggage that comes with killing other people and then being shoved into a life of limelight and extravagance. I don't blame him, I was reckless after winning, careless with my own mortality, in different ways to him, but reckless all the same.

"Uhhh, right so, Cricket. You all hate her, yeah?" He asks, staggering about like a ragged scarecrow.

Hate is a strong word, and usually one that I would have reserved for Lethe and Snow a few years ago. Now, just Snow. I don't hate Cricket, I probably don't even dislike her, it's just that this is all so disappointing. She was always loyal to the Capitol, her Career upbringing played a key part in that, but doing this just takes that to a whole new level - a level she can't come down from, not in my eyes.

The fact that she endorses killing isn't an alien idea, not when you consider how good at it she was, it's just, her Games finished a long time ago, and the blood tax for her own life was paid. To continue killing, to continue playing the game, that is something I can't understand.

"Maybe she didn't have a choice."

In steps the voice of reason, calm and sober. I exhale, mainly because a voice of reason is exactly what I don't need right now. I know the facts, I know the potential reasons why she's doing this, I just don't care.

We always have a choice.

Would I do it, if they said they'd kill me if I refused? I don't know, maybe, if I had something worth surviving for. But that's still a choice, and choices have consequences. Cricket isn't immune to that.

"Maybe we ain't got no choices left." He follows up, and he looks right at me, and my heart jumps to my throat. What is that? Judgement? I swallow it, holding his gaze until I have to look away. No, it's not judgement, it's something else, but I don't know what.

"It's possible Mace." Kirito sips at his drink with a calmness that irritates me, "But I can't just believe we don't have anymore choices. Katelyn wouldn't so I won't."

Kill or die, nothing about that is a new concept to any of us.

But Cricket's been in the Capitol's good books for over a decade. There's no way they'd have to force her into anything. Besides, I struggle to believe that they considered her at all, it had to be her that put the idea forwards.

"You're telling me they made her do this?" I scoff at the idea, "Cricket would do anything for the Capitol out of sheer loyalty."

I sip at my drink, fire in my gut.

"Secondly, why would they want her? She's not exactly qualified or experienced in the complexities of Gamemaking."

There's no way that she was in their thoughts at all when choosing who would run a future Hunger Games, of that I'm convinced. She's an artist, a performer, a complete wildcard. Sure, they've had mavericks doing the Games before, but they were all qualified professionals who rose through the ranks and earned it.

"Nah, she volunteered for this, like any fucked-up, pathetic, egotistical District Two would." I down my drink, struggling to meet any of their gazes, before I decide to walk away from the group and head for the nearest liquor stash.

I'm not judging Cricket, she died inside long ago.

passed the pub that saps your body
and the church who'll snatch your money
the queen is dead, boys
and it's so lonely on a limb

[Arrows]

Kirito Miristioma

Where does fantasy
end and reality begin?

One moment she's standing there, strong as ever with the flames of angry hellfire furling from her lips. The next she is gone, footsteps treading away to the table of terrible poisons. A chain crueler than the clothes on my skin sinks onto my shoulders. A weight I've become quite accustom to wearing. It forces my eyes to follow her every step until she reaches her place with a glass in hand. Inside my own crystal cup the liquid trembles as angst aggravates my exteriorly calm composure. Now is the ideal moment to pursue her into privacy, yet it is also the most excellent opportunity to give into my fears and flee down my own direction. The weight begins weighing me down even heavier. 

The figures fade from around me until alone I stand in a sea of shadows. Voices of violence and memory, now brothers in my brain, whispers their terrible tales while I gaze at the ground. Rhyme lies cold in my lap, Imp's flesh burns before me, Wyatt lies alone in our mixing pool of blood. They all whisper their wickedness at me while sweat stems from my brows. Their eyes empty invade my irises until their chilling touch freezes my cells. Circe's voice is calm and clear.

"You can't apologize to us." - I snap out of my trance.

"Excuse me for a moment, I don't think I have enough alcohol to handle the night yet." My words fall from my lips as I begin to retrace her steps, yet before fully fleeing the circle I turn to Mace with a soft smile. "We need to talk a bit before the night's over." I wink and return down my more frightening path. Oh how it would have been easy to hide behind the gentle conversation of child rearing. After all with Oasis being pregnant spotting another woman showing signs is far more notable than it use to be. 

The sweet dynamic of distraction soon drips away like the final ounces of jet fuel from my cup down my throat as I approach the woman powerful enough to make a room silent in a second. Powerful enough to knock you clear out with a pipe, but then again my fingers were furled around the neck of her friend. My stomach gnarls, I'm clearly going to need more man made fog before I can fully handle the heaven or the hell that will come with this conversation, but then again its better to live with the heart of a Lyon and apologize while I still can than to let demons rest where they can form hatred. 

I finally reach her side and I... I... swiftly search for a scapegoat. My hands begin harassing bottles in a pattern I've engraved into my brain, a teal liquid enters my glass as a result. I tenderly turn to face her offering the remaining mix. "It's basically a crap ton of alcohol and quite frankly tastes like it, but it works damn well for nights like this." I set it down by her letting her decide whether to dance with death's concoction while I openly let it sear through me. My lips depart from my glass and I expose myself to the storm and the shadows. 

"I also just want to say, sorry you know? About Lethe... I... I really wasn't myself and..." I stumble on a proper sentence to say, but really there isn't any correct choice. Normal people don't have to apologize for strangling a friend. "You have no reason to forgive me, but I'd hate myself if I didn't apologize to the people I still can."

[rook]

the lights go out and i can't be saved
tides that I tried to swim against
have brought me down upon my knees
oh i beg, i beg and plead, singing

I feel it brewing inside of me, and I place a steady hand against my abdomen in an attempt to quell the storm churning within. It's a blistering hot anger, directed at the injustices of this sick world.

In this brief respite from the speculative discussion and painful small-talk, I dwell on the futile nature of saying or doing anything against it. Sheer oppression of this size is unrelenting, and to fight it, or act against it will only end badly.

I only need to think back to all the things Snow made me do in the Upper Districts to be reminded of how powerless I really am. I don't expect any of the others are any different. Mace has had his share of punishments, as have many of the older Victors.

Lash out at your own peril, that's the message branded into our skin. White roses don't just appear on your bed unless you've done something to really piss Snow off. I'm privileged to be in that elite club.

I rest my palms down on the oak table, leaning my body weight forwards and easing my lower-back, and upper chest. Still hurts, after all these years. I try to breathe from my core, instead of shallow in my breast, but it's something of a struggle, and not wanting to risk being seen as damaged, I exhale and stand straight, surveying the table.

There is a multitude of poisons to pick, and none of them look particularly appealing. They're all so chemical, both in colour and smell. Green gins that look like they were concocted in a lab line the front of the display, with crystal clear vodkas so pure that could be mistaken for water hanging to the sides. Several bottles of aged wine stand tall like sentinels, towering above the flasks and vials, so red that I feel queasy at the thought of clotting.

None of it is real alcohol, it's all made by people in lab-coats, not a drop of it has come from a proper brewery. Me and Rose used to hang around the Old Hops brewery down Shenton's Street, where real whiskey was made. We were too young to be drinking it, but the folk there didn't mind too much. We were polite, and witty, giving as good as we got with the locals. Plus, we always had enough money, which helped.

Simpler times, where all I aspired to be was a master con-artist, trickster, and semi-decent computer hacker.

I haven't touched a computer in years. Some days, that's all I would do, now, it's like that's not even a part of me anymore.

The realisation is enough to make me reach for the vodka. I don't usually switch from amber liquors to hard white spirits, but it's one of those days where I just want to bleach out the world and let something else take the wheel.

I sip at the 'Premium' brand, but it tastes anything but. It's like something you'd use to clean a toilet, but fuck it's strong, and that's enough for me right now.

"It's basically a crap ton of alcohol and quite frankly tastes like it, but it works damn well for nights like this." Bleeds an unwelcome voice from my right, and I gaze over at Kirito, who for whatever reason thinks it's a good idea to try and engage me right now, after my outburst over Cricket.

Nights like this. What the hell does Kirito Miristioma know about nights like this?

"I also just want to say, sorry you know? About Lethe... I... I really wasn't myself and..." He staggers, stumbling over himself, his words caught in an anxious tangle, "You have no reason to forgive me, but I'd hate myself if I didn't apologise to the people I still can."

His guilt is dripping onto the floor, his skin is electric with anticipation, and I try to set him and ease with a wave of my hand, like I'm swatting a fly, shaking my head and closing my eyes.

"It's fine, look, forget it." I insist. If Kirito does have some kind of mental health issues like I was told, then it's somewhat understandable. Guy goes into arena, kills people, survives, gets thrusted into limelight, watches brother endure the same thing, watches brother die. It's a lot. I'd probably have lashed out if I was watching Rose die, powerless to prevent it. I can understand.

"I've already forgotten it," I lie, but if it makes him feel better, whatever, "Do you want a drink?"

confusion that never stops
the closing walls and the ticking clocks gonna
come back and take you home
i could not stop, that you now know, singing