who run the world? {scissor sisters}

[lance]

[presto][/presto]

She'd written the letters that morning, virtually the same set of words twice over with a few key differences mixed within. She'd delivered them by mid-morning - one slipped under the door on the fourth floor, the other given to Tallu to pass along to her counterpart from Two. She'd guessed that Two would be more open to input from an outside source while Four would prefer to receive her information directly, but only time would tell if she'd gambled correctly.

Hayden Harvard and Samson Parish, her Career counterparts from Two and Four, respectively, and the only two she found worthy of allying with as anything other than meat shields. Hammerfell was a logical choice as well, as he alone of the Career boys seemed to possess any ambition or skill on par with her own.

But a three person alliance of the girls from One, Two, and Four was more poetic without a spare Two thrown into the mix. And besides, if nothing else she'd like to get a feel for her two chief rivals personally, face to face.

That was how she found herself seated at a table in the dining hall at a quarter to four, well after lunch but not quite in time for dinner. Out of the way, virtually empty save a handful of avoxes, it was the perfect location for a strategic meeting.

Not that anyone else would dare eavesdrop on three of the most dangerous women in the entire building, of course, but she'd rather be safe than sorry.

Four in the afternoon came and went and the souls at the table swelled from one to four - Harvard had brought along a companion, one of the lower district girls. She'd sized the unexpected addition to the group up quickly and had decided not to question the issue.

After all, even the best of Careers needed their meat shields.

As everyone got settled in their seats, she put her best charismatic smile in place.

"Ladies," she greeted cheerfully. "So glad to see that you could make it."

And she was, if only for the fact that being spurned would have achieved the exact opposite of what she was trying to accomplish with this very meeting - that was, of course, the early infighting of the Careers.

"As I'm sure you already know, I'm Cynthia, of District One," If they didn't already know they'd be fools, but some formalities must be kept, at least. "And as I'm also sure you've already guessed, I've gathered you hear to proposition an alliance."

Quick and to the point - that was the Rose way.

Her smile did not waver as her gaze flitted from one girl to the next, carefully gauging their reactions. "Why do I make this proposition, you may ask?" Even if the words weren't spoken outright, she had no doubt that behind the girls' pretty faces the gears were already turning. "It's simple, really. Mutual survival."

She paused for a second, letting it sink in. "Think about it. Career infighting has taken its toll on all of us over the years. It's why so many of the lower districts have been racking up crowns for themselves - simply because we've been too busy focusing on taking each other out instead of them."

It was a pattern sadly repeated throughout recent history - her own predecessors trying to take each other out and emerging all the weaker for it, Shaw turning on Demheaux prematurely in the finale may have very well cost her her own crown, the numerous clashes in the Seventy Fourth, the duels between Fray and Muto and then Fray, Travers, and Strangways-Teach in the Seventy Third all before half the tributes had died - the list went on and on.

And the Career pack might be an outdated concept anyway, but Ripred damn it if she wasn't going to try for a late revival.

She leaned forward, her grin traveling into smirk territory. "And I don't know about you ladies, but I'd rather have the deadliest tributes at my side instead of at my swordpoint until it was guaranteed that one of us would win." The smirk grew wider. "And I do believe that the three that fit those standards the best are sitting here in this very room."

Endgame time. "So, what do you all think?" she asked, the question as loaded as a peacekeeper's gun.

"Are you in?"

It was unorthodox, seeing that as of late, alliances were formed with relationships first and practicality later.

But if it worked, then she didn't think she - or anyone outside of this building, save perhaps her father - would complain.

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

Oh, sometimes, I pray for you at night
Someday, maybe you'll see the light
Oh, some say, in life, you're gonna get what you give
But some things only God can forgive

The bright morning sun peeks through my window.

It’s God telling me to get up, that it’s time to start my day.

Another day to get better. Another day to fulfil my purpose, thanks to Him.

It seems like any other normal morning, I quickly run my fingers through my hair and pull it up, get changed without a second thought. I’m about to walk out when I notice a small piece of paper on the floor.

Probably a love note of some sort.

My fingers run across the sharply folded edges. Someone definitely had a purpose when they slipped it under my door. I debate on just throwing it out, as if I had never seen it. But my curiosity gets the better of me, there’s something telling me to open it.

He must have put it there for a reason.

I delicately open the slip of paper, as if moving too fast will cause it to fall into dust. My eyes skim the words quickly, eager to discover their meaning.

But as soon as I’m finished my faces flushes read and my hands ball into fists, threatening to crumble the tiny piece of paper.

This was not part of the plan.

I was supposed to be alone. Allies were never in the question, not once. I was not supposed to befriend the sinners. I look upwards and say a silent prayer.

He answers me quickly, and I realize now this is just another piece of the puzzle He created for me. I take a deep breath and compose myself, and finally make my way towards the dining hall.

She’s sitting there by herself, Cynthia, waiting on our arrival. The room is scarce minus a few avoxes, perfect timing for a meeting. Props to One for planning a perfect moment.

”Well well well, look what we have here,”

I didn’t know her personally, but she seemed dangerous enough. Enough to be viable in some way, but would her sins get in the way of her success?

Then Two walks in, Hayden if I remember correctly, but she has something on her side.

”I’m sorry but what is that?”
My eyes narrow and survey the small girl. I can’t even place a District on her, Nine maybe?

”If I remember correctly this was a proposition for three, not four. What even is its name?”

Maybe she could be useful in someone, but I’m not convinced. Is she someone to just throw out when we need a distraction? She might be worth keeping, she’ll just need to prove it.

”Ladies, so glad to see that you could make it,”

Her cheerfulness is already annoying me.

”As I’m sure you already know, I’m Cynthia, of District One. And as I’m also sure you’ve already guessed, I’ve gathered you here to to proposition and alliance,”

It takes all of my willpower to refrain myself from rolling my eyes. No shit sherlock. I don’t even bother introducing myself, they should all know who I am by this point. And if they don’t? Well, they got another thing coming for them.

"Why do I make this proposition, you may ask? It's simple, really. Mutual survival."

Temporary mutual survival, I want to correct her, but I bite my tongue. Little do they know what He has in store for them, all I know is that it’s not a happy ending.

She begins to go off on a tangent, how Careers are getting picked off because we’re focusing each other instead of the weaker Districts. How we need to band together and bring the crown back to the upper Districts. She’s right of course, but little does she know that they’re all sinners, not many of them deserved to win, God just decided they were the best of the worst.

She throws in some compliments as well, but I know better than to fall for flattery when it comes to making a decision. Instead a quick prayer runs through my mind, asking Him what to do.

”So, what do you all think? Are you in?”

I pause a moment, thinking. I’ve yet to know what these girls have done, He hasn’t revealed to me their sins. There’s a reason for it. He must be waiting, he doesn’t want me to know yet, and that in itself is my answer.

”Fine, but as soon as it starts to get close I’m out,”

I guess even a saint must eat among sinners sometimes.

I hope you're somewhere prayin', prayin'
I hope your soul is changin', changin'
I hope you find your peace
Falling on your knees, prayin'

[ dars ]

[[nyte]]

 hayden harvard

It never occurred to me that there would be no mirrors in the arena. I was never a vain woman, looks mattered not to me when there was an angel by my side but there is comfort in the rituals performed every morning. Gazing at empty eyes in crystal-colored glass, lining them with gentle black, with smoky colors and turning my lips the color of cherry's blood. I hide behind the colors, behind the beauty that was so painstakingly harvested the minute I set foot inside of Harvard Academy. So I panic this morning, lipstick clutched within shaking fingers and this weakness is something I have become so desperate to purge. This is not who I am, who I was meant to be.

Delilah is a true career. Eager to throw herself into this fray and I am nothing but a disappointment. I've already spent hours upon the floor, repetitious motion and careful footwork- my entire life is flashing before my eyes. I cannot help but fear that all of this has led up to nothing but pointless ending. But with the death and destruction of a little girl. 

Do you believe in destiny? 

If this is how it's supposed to end, I suppose there's nothing more that  I can do. 

Her name is Mariela and she isn't much younger than me. Her lips are painted with cherry's blood, cheeks dusted with pink powder and there are diamonds in the corner of her eyes. It wasn't hard to see myself within her- the frustrated lower district lacked my training. She did not know how badly she reeked of weakness, of the predators surrounding her with drool leaking from their fangs.

I don't know why she bothers with makeup. Any mask she tries to wear was worth nothing when she is so obviously broken. A foal left without a mother and I could not leave her there as bait. Limbs tangled within a hunter's net. Because I knew that I could be strong enough for the both of us I smiled, kneeling in front of her. "Sweetie." A smile so genuine that it burned, turning me into a forest fire and for the first time since I arrived there is purpose searing down my throat. "I absolutely adore your makeup, how did you do your eyeliner?"

You learn so much with honey tongues. Brute force is not the answer to every conflict, although that is what we are taught. With angry words and intimidation- to rule the world with fear is far too easy. It takes little to no effort to breed hatred, for those seeds to be sewn and nurtured and to watch a plague drain the earth of emerald fields.

I have always loved  a challenge and so I love instead.

There's no point sugarcoating it: Mariela was useless. She hadn't any idea how to wield a weapon- her motions were harsh and graceless and it became apparent that those from the districts below us are indeed an entirely different breed. But they're fast learners. (Aim for the neck! We're striking to kill, honey. There's no such thing as mercy here.) 

We'd been training together for only a day before the note arrived. Pressed into my palm and for a moment I simply stared at the paper. Not understanding, not bothering to read the words scribbled upon it. 

The games have already begun.

I take Mariela with me. We are a package deal, I have decided- a lioness and her foal. Predator and prey, a peculiar and temporary harmony to which we are suspended. Honestly, I don't know if she understands just how easy it would be for me to turn on her. To kill her once we've been lowered into an arena and the rule of humanity no longer plagues us. But I know that's not who I am. I think she does too. 

I sit, gesturing for Mariela to take the seat next to me. The big girls are talking now- her time will come later. Cynthia and Samson. Three careers have been reaped and each and every one of us should know the capabilities of the other- to some extent at least. Since I arrived I have been observing, studying those that will soon become obstacles in the journey back to her.

Cynthia is charismatic and chaotic. Lightning crackles beneath her smile and the power within her palms is nothing to be underestimated. Samson is lethal and unhinged, there is something in her eyes that frightens me and I will do whatever is possible not to end up her enemy.  "I'm sorry but what is that?" 

She's not making this easy. 

"A girl." I smile politely, crossing my legs settling my hands within my lap. "Mariela, more specifically. She's skilled in first aid." The lies taste like poison, but I'm not willing to give her up- and I'm not passing up the opportunity that is no doubt unfolding in front of me. 

Cynthia proposes exactly what I was hoping she would. An alliance of the deadliest girls to have graced these floors in a long, long while. "I agree with Samson." It's simple math- really. I want the best chance of getting home and if I'm going to make it there I best ride the wave for as long as I can. Men are easy to manipulate, I fear not our counterparts. The other women in this arena will be much like Mariela, they've no idea how to fight with the weapons which we were born with pressed into our palms. 

"But this can't be just a business arrangement. Unless we trust each other, we'll fall apart in an instant." 

[arx!!]

 MARIELA PITRE

I tried to swing an axe yesterday and I couldn't even get the blade off the ground. Everyone I've ever watched wield one made it look so easy. But after a few tries I realize it's more of an art, one I certainly don't have time to master. So I tried moving on to a sword, but all I managed was to get the blade stuck in one of the targets. I thought I might actually make some sort of headway with a knife, but it only proved I was never going to make it back home alive. I couldn't even bandage the cut on my palm correctly, I had to ask a trainer for help.

I'm not usually this easily moved to tears. I've dealt with 16 years of strange looks, hateful glares, jarring comments, and nasty words—proving to myself that I'm useless with a weapon shouldn't make me so frustrated. I wasn't raised to be a Career. I was barely raised to be a human. ("You're better than them, Mariela. You're the royalty and they're the peasants.") All I'll ever be good for is sitting still and looking pretty.

Her name is Hayden. And I know I should be entirely skeptical of the sweet voice—"Sweetie."—and the compliments—"I absolutely adore your makeup."—and definitely of the invite to the dining hall, but I don't remember the last time I had a conversation with a girl my age that didn't end in an insult or some form of threat. After so many years of scowls and looks of disgust, it's hard not to fall for the smiles. I'm no good at judging her sincerity, but I'm not strong enough to go back to crying alone in the corner again either.

I'll refrain from being a nuisance. I'll keep quiet, I'll do as I'm told, I'll listen, and I'll answer every question she asks, but I won't do anything to suggest that I'm clinging to her kindness.

And I'll join her in the dining hall, even though I'm sure this is a terrible idea.

"I'm sorry, but what is that?"

And these are the gazes I'm far more accustomed to. Accusatory and disgusted, arms folded and stances suggesting that they could break my neck in 3 seconds flat if they thought I was actually even worth their time. And clearly I'm not.

"If I remember correctly this was a proposition for three, not four. What even is its name?"

Right. Very clearly.

"My apologies, I'll go."

I keep my eyes to the ground and try not to worry about how much taller and stronger they all are. And how they know my face now. And how they probably know at least twenty different ways to kill me slowly and painfully—each. Oh, I really should not have done this. Should've stayed in my room, quiet and docile and out of everyone's way--

"A girl. Mariela, more specifically."

I pause halfway through standing up, stealing a glance at Hayden who really doesn't seem to care about all the ways Samson Parish could kill her. She's got a smile on her face and her legs folded comfortably and I think I'm about to pass out—"She's skilled in first aid."—even before she lies right to their faces. Now I think my heart is actually going to explode in my chest.

They're going to kill me. I'm going to die the moment they realize Hayden was only lying to-- why does she want me around anyway? Why not just bring someone along to this badass Career meeting who actually knows first aid?

But they've already started up their conversation again by the time I decide I should probably protest. And leaving now would probably only get me killed right here and now in the dining hall, so I slowly lower myself back into my seat. I take more than the occasional glance at Hayden in an attempt to get her attention with my fear stricken gaze.

But this meeting is clearly one they're all quite invested in. Clearly one they'll all end up agreeing to if they don't let their egos get in the way. I may just be a pretty face from a lower district, useless in a fight, unskilled when it comes to survival skills, and lacking any practice in Games strategy, but even this decision seems rather obvious to me. The fact that this hasn't been organized in such a long time is astonishing. It's likely whatever is being planned here will go down in history.

"Fine, but as soon as it starts to get close I'm out."

"I agree with Samson."

I'm still uncertain whether I hold a spot at this meeting or not. Honestly, even if I do, I can't get my lips to move anyway. And my heart is still lodged in my throat as I fret over having to learn how to stitch skin back together just so Cynthia and Samson don't kill me as soon as the Games begin.

"But this can't be just a business arrangement. Unless we trust each other, we'll fall apart in an instant."

I look across the table at Samson and Cynthia and immediately regret it. Definitely best not to look them in the eyes. Ever. I stare into my hands, twisted together as tightly as my grandmother's curls. My knuckles are turning white, my face is reddening, and I know I shouldn't be here. All this talk of killing the lower district kids, how unworthy we all are—I'm feeling very small again.

Grandmother was wrong. I was never the royalty. These girls are the royalty. I'm merely the lower district, peasant girl playing pretend.

Actually, even that isn't true.

I don't even equate to a girl in their eyes.