something on my mind | {phelix/ronan}

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

Numbers— definitive evidence. The statistics did not lie. Lack of attendance, like of trying, it all showed up in the end, and since Ronan had been clever enough to devise the ranking system, attendance and poor effort had been all but diminished.

"A lucky catch," the papers had called him. It was probably the first positive bit of news coverage the academy had gotten in years. He smirked, walking down the hallways with his chest just a bit higher. There were more important things than glory and validation, but damn, it still felt good. He no longer felt like a new horse in an old pasture, and the other instructors were starting to not only accept his teaching methods, but adopt them for their own classes. He devised a panel of faculty who would each weigh in on student performance, now offering both individual class rankings and overall class rankings.

It was no surprise that Calypso Leto and Aylin Barlow devastated across the charts, but that only told him which students he needed to work harder to help understand.

As the ranking system had taken so well to the school, he was constantly dreaming up other ways to improve it, and himself. He was constantly trying to think of ways to restore the PTA to the glory it had reveled in a few short years ago, when he graduated from it.

Balled up paper and disheveled hair and a loosened tie and something a little stronger than coffee on his breath one night, and he had it. It had taken the realization and acceptance that his private investigations would have to be put on hold, and countless trial and error simulations playing through his head, but the next morning when class was in session, and he had silenced them all, he raised his index finger into the air.

A brilliant man who wanted brilliance for his pupils, or so he thought.

"New game today!" he called to them, sitting on the edge of his desk. The front few all leaned a bit closer than the others, intrigue sparking the competitive streak he had first ignited in them only a few months ago.

"I reviewed your tests from yesterday, and I think a lot of you missed the idea." His eyes flicked to Calypso, whose cheeks began to flush with what might have been embarrassment. "You see, the point of this job is that it is not always cut-and-dry. There are gray areas. There are places where peoples actions were not technically right, nor wrong."

He had come to love the feeling of their eyes on him, watching his every move, jotting down exact quotes as he spoke them. He had been sent here as a punishment, and there was no denying it. The only peacekeeper from Four to make the top five percent of his year in the Capitol meant he was the only viable option to return until he was officially named a peacekeeper.

"They'll need someone like you," his instructor had said, "someone who knows how to guide them."

It was still much, much too early to tell, but he thought maybe he was doing what they had asked.

"In these instances," he continued, "It is up to you to use the abilities we, as teachers, are giving to you: investigation, logical reasoning, physical prowess, as well as a heart. Yesterday's assignment was a test to see which of you were actually ready to go out in the world and work as peacekeepers, and here is the truth,"

Deep breath, moment of silence,

"Most of you failed."

The mental game of being a peacekeeper was easily the hardest part. Convincing yourself that you were arresting someone who tried to flee the district, and not that you were arresting a mother of three who could find work in the district was hard work. But it came with the title.

"I've decided that, once per week, I am going to start selecting someone to go on actual job assignments with me," He said, watching every pair of eyes in the room catch fire. Yes, the good part. The part they had all been waiting for. "But who will I bring first?"

He could practically feel the hope and desperation leaking off of them. Mateus, entitled prick, licked his lips, while Relaina rubbed her hands together, both in anticipation.

"Phelix," He called simply, his eyes catching the glimpse of a particularly large boy. Looked like a career. Didn't move like one, though. Still, he was the only one who seemed to have a brain the day before, so the prize was his.

"Stick around after class."

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

PHELIX HALE 

So far, the academy had been and continued to be a wicked mix of so good and so challenging. Every morning, there was a new burden awaiting him, in disguise of a freshly brewed coffee mug. It was only when the fluid hits your tongue, you taste its bitterness, and fastening a home in your mouth, making your innards rise to the throat. Long story short, even their daily brew was a challenge to gulp down. New tests, weaponry training, precision practice, arrowheads sinking into fake flesh, the tension in his shoulders when his hand curled around a sword handle and the astonishment and panic tugging at his heartstrings when the handle was a perfect fit to the trembling digits, like two long lost puzzle pieces connecting.

But, when the academic and training hours come to a halt, there was a sense of tranquility amongst its walls. It was his favorite time of the day—sprawled over the mess he calls a bed, listening to the sound of the tides in the air. No matter their constant motion, tides have always been predictable. They kiss the shore, recoil back into the depths, and repeat all over. It calmed the pounding in his chest to know that some things are always going to be predictable—the tides, sunrise, sunset. Too much unpredictability in his life; surprises lunging at him from all sides. He was beginning to grow a hatred against them.

There was when he began to throw himself into studies, the yellowed pages of textbooks, highlighting whichever information he thought was crucial. The entire act of studying was another challenge to him and his dilated pupils, hanging out of the dark bags beneath his eyes. But, it took less effort to battle dyslexia than other trainees. Less to no bruises, and best of all, he didn’t have to murmur an apology for every gash the steel of his blade made. It was a win-win situation; every day, the words dissembled and rearranged themselves occasionally, no matter how brief they lingered in a position that his eyes could precisely comprehend. It helped.

Law was a part of his favored topics. The ideal of distributing justice, the codes of violation, the borderline between violence and torture. He now knew the difference between a savage and a man mounted on his high horse better. A raging kleptomaniac and a petty thief.

Shoving down the bits of notes and cards into his bag, he debated whatever he should take his daily dose of caffeine or head straight to class. The swing vote for the decision was the thought of drowsing off in Panem history; Jude Donovan did give an unbelievably tedious lecture yesterday. The coffee didn’t carry much of surprises, it was still as strong as ever even through the layers of cream. Maybe, the faculty offered it as a form of stimulant for the students—maybe they knew how tiring life was within the academy’s uncanny compounds. And, the coffee did do its work, a momentary rush jolting his veins awake.

The distance from his room to class served a moment of recess for him, and he took every second of leisure it had to offer. Morning was slipping past now, the sun glacially ascending to its peak. The air was pregnant with the smell of salt and a sick aroma of strong coffee. He could hear, faintly, the clanks and clicks of steel from the weaponry class. Hallways were being cleared out, faces hurrying past and figurines disappearing into rooms, turns and corridors. While his eyes tried to make clear the light patterns on the ceilings, he deliberately took his time to get to class.

A lecture was in action when he entered, trying to be as discreet as he possibly could. Mr. Ronan, upfront and golden in the light like an authoritative figure. He was an authoritative figure, he realized. He reminded Phelix of a king, certain of his words and aware of the power he held. The silken hair, and the strong build were other reasons but Phelix knew they weren’t appropriate enough to mention out loud. He averted his gaze to a familiar face before the other could catch him staring and it landed on Reid’s, then on the back of Calypso Leto’s head.

( “Yesterday's assignment was a test to see which of you were actually ready to go out in the world and work as peacekeepers, and here is the truth,” )

And yesterday came back in bits and fragments. He didn’t remember the exact topic, only vaguely, but Mr. Ronan’s words had a gravity to it that Phelix was drawn to. ( “Most of you failed.” ) A wave of panic rose and, he hastily repressed it. A part of him was confident he aced it, but the other part that had the reins told him he was one of the most.

Tension bubbled and leaked off their bodies, anticipation starting a rush within. The clicks of the clock were audible, along with the frantic rhythms of the hearts.

(“Phelix,”) Breathed in. (“Stick around after class,”) Gasped out. Eyes turned, every gaze lunging with daggers at him. The perplexed expression, evident on his features, couldn’t be peeled away. Tongue choked and stumbled over a frantic string of words— “Really?” He spurted out, then winced at the implication of sarcasm his tone might had given off. “I mean – um, yeah. Yeah, sure, professor Ronan.”