from the rot ✿ d10 opening ceremony

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

F A Y R E

"You are death —"

She takes it as a metaphor,
not a statement.

Crowned with bone and wrapped in animal furs, Fayre Belanger is death. Or, at the very least, a unique interpretation of it. Her eyes are shadowed and haunted, her skin a shade too pale — and the fabric of her gown is all at once dark and sheer, with the outline of a skeleton stretching across her limbs. She does not have to think hard to know what she is truly meant to represent.

She is a carcass in the pastures of Ten, bleached by the sun and reclaimed by the earth. It's a new, if not intense, portrayal of her district — especially when compared to the usual leather clothes and stereotypical hats. These costumes are not a joking matter, and she appreciates the stylists for their dedication. If she must be forced back into pageantry, then she is glad for a little substance.

Where she is the beast lying dead in the field, her partner is the second stage of its demise. The bones he wears are nothing more than steel jewellery, hardened by time and no longer organic, and he is covered in fresh flowers. It's clever, the story they tell. One that is true to Ten and its creatures: life comes from death. There is always a balance. Lavender can grow from marrow.

"— and Royce is life."

The smile she offers her partner is small, but the warmth in her eyes is genuine. They climb onto their chariot together, wreathed in wildflowers and pulled by dappled grey stallions wearing ivory harnesses. Her anxiety rises with the excitement of the crowd, hands shaking around the cold reins in her grasp, but she distracts herself by turning to Royce. She is not ashamed to seek comfort.

"Your beard looks ridiculous. I hope you know that."

It's easier to laugh. It's easier to be alive.

[mat]

R O Y C E

The stylists have created the story of District Ten. No, not their people, but what the people of Ten do and give. They kill, extract, and export their prize, the living animal. The portrayal made Royce sicker with every breath he took as Matteo, his stylist, pieced together the creation. When both he and Fayre appear out of their dressing room, Royce realized the District Ten’s true game that he would, thankfully, never be able to play.

Fayre is the catch and kill, the slaughter that District Ten is known to do en masse. She is the sacrifice made, and Royce wore the result. Tiny little flowers grow on him from head to toe, whether attached to the clothing, his hair, or his beard. His accessories are bones, his skeleton wearing itself inside out. He is the reward. Fayre Belanger is the cause of this effect.

Both of them wear the story of two tales on their sleeves. One, District Ten, where the workers must kill, skin, and extract every piece of the cattle in order to survive. Without the kill, all there would be are empty fields and broken bones. Death. Two, the Hunger Games which they themselves would soon take part, where their sacrifice meant the survival of the ones who aren’t corrupt in Panem, the districts.

They mounted the chariot as life and death, and Royce silently hoped that it would act as a good luck charm: one would end the games with life, and the other with death. That was the best case scenario, that is the only out for either of them

“Your beard looks ridiculous. I hope you know that.”

He nods, giving the flowers that dangled from his scruffy beard a fair shake. “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

He looked ridiculous, and it was pretty damn accurate, because he felt ridiculous, too, finding it hard to stand with any sort of bravery.

They were both out of their comfort zone, as anyone from down in Ten would be. There is no such thing as comfort here, not when every step he takes is a transition from life to death. It’s not desirable to wear this trophy of flowers and bones when he can already imagine the screams of the sacrifices it will take to get there.

[✨ zozo.]

"Your beard looks ridiculous-"

Saffron steps forward and cocks her head, ready to snap a 'No fighting!' at their latest tributes. Flowers in his beards and bones around her neck, District Ten's two polar opposites don't end up arguing. In fact, they almost compliment each-other.

"Chins up," she instructs. It's been years, almost decades since she took the chariot through the Capitol but the memory of nerves haven't left. Games come and go but it's all the same: impress. Entertain. Try not to let Mantel throw up on your shoes again-

"Smiles on - even if you don't want to."

She takes a step back and puts a hand on Mace's arm, a crown of flowers in her hair. Flowers like Emberly used to pick. Thorns like Clementa. Hair orange and gold like Myara. It's all a disgusting reminder - a warning.

She gives her own.

"When your leg is cut open and your allies are dead and you're down to your last bottle of water you'll be wishin' you smiled tonight."

i'll confess
i've just been obsessed
with life & death
and emptiness ;