Anthem of the Defeated // Katelyn+Kass

[charade]

The infirmary is an unpleasant place.

It is cold, sterile and reminds her of the interrogation center. It smells the same. Like chemicals and misery. The walls are too white and they are everywhere. She shivers. People in lab coats flit about and she half-expects to see a pair of dark eyes and a too wide smile around every corner. She tries not to think about the chair, or the fragments of sunless days that she can recall. There were so many things pumped into her system that it’s a miracle that she remembers any of it at all.

It’s a curse too.

When she enters the room, she sets the wrapped plate of peanut brittle and fudge on the small table to the side of the bed. She does not expect the girl to eat any of it, but she knows that it’ll taste better than any of the hospital food they have to give. The first thing she ate when she got out of the hospital was a slice of cherry pie. It was overly manufactured, too sweet in the crust and bitter in the filling, but for the briefest of moments, it tasted like home.

She told Nico Thorne that it gets easier. It does. But from the few charged conversations they’d had on the train and in the center, she knows Kassandra won’t want to hear such things. Kassandra is headstrong, full of anger and idealism. There are people back home that she doesn’t want to disappoint. People in the Capitol she does not care for. People she left in the arena, yet carries with her still.

It is very familiar. 

Katelyn wonders if this is what Arbor saw in her thirteen years ago. If it is, and she knows it is, she understands why he was so concerned when tributes continued to come home. She sits and knits her fingers together, elbows resting on the arms of her chair.

“I know you hate me,” she begins, holding the young girl’s gaze. “But if your spite for me played a small part in keeping you going, then I’ll count it as a win.” It is a rare thing these days, to feel like something, anything is a victory when the shadow of the next tragedy is just waiting to rear its ugly head.

Kass’s fight with Cyril comes to mind. The martyrs, pacifists and those unwilling to play the game all lost their morals in the end, as they always did. Ideals are for those who can afford them. There was a time when Katelyn bought them as if they were going out of stock.

These days, there is hell to pay, and Katelyn is drowning in debt.

“Welcome to the other side.” The side of her mouth lifts wanly. Tiredly.

Maybe things will be better this time. This time next year, she won’t be apologizing to Kiri and Harb as they bury another sibling; another cousin. She won’t be burying any of the children from the orphanage that have the misfortune of being friends with Kass. There will be no inquests, no visits from peacekeepers in the dead of night.

Katelyn doesn’t lie to anyone.

Except maybe, herself.

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[sbeeg]

The door opens again to bring another victor into her room. Kass didn't realize it was customary for so many people to visit the hospital. She wasn't sure what to do with all the social contact. Do you offer them a seat? What does one do when they have visitors? These victors were mostly strangers to her. Faces on television, not presences in her life. Life had taught her to be wary of strangers.

She thought of Dio and Nell, of Ike and Blair.

Maybe she didn't always listen to life.

Except the victor who entered next was not a stranger. Katelyn Persimmon walked in with fucking fudge.

Kass thought she made it clear she didn't want any of Persimmon's mope sugar but evidently not.

Kass set her lips together. She would have crossed her arms if she had two arms to cross. Instead she set her left hand over her stomach.

“I know you hate me." Good, this conversation would be short. “But if your spite for me played a small part in keeping you going, then I’ll count it as a win.”

Kass opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out. She thought of the dark lonely nights where the only thing left inside of her was anger and rage. How any times had Persimmon's voice echoed around inside her head? How many times had she thought of the victor?

Kass remained silent.

"Welcome to the other side."

Kass looked around the small sterile room. Her eyes on the plastic wrapped sweets in flat shades of brown.

"Thanks," she scoffed. She looked up, inspecting Persimmon's face in the harsh lighting of the hospital room. Kassandra had only been a year old when Persimmon won. A child with parents. Poor parents, but she had them. If thirteen years had made Kass hard, she wondered what those years did Persimmon.

The other side. Every victor seemed to hold that over them, the weight of it laid across their shoulders.

"What do I do now?"

She knew what she wanted to do. The Capitol was accustomed to quiet and obedient victors. They wouldn't see a child before it was too late.

She knew what she wanted to do. Persimmon had to know that too. Kass had been very clear on the train up to the Capitol- those with power had to use it.

The unspoken plans hung in the air. Kass watched Persimmon, looking for any flicker of emotion.

"What does the other side hold for me?"

^{[ DARS ]}

[charade]

It had been comforting to embrace Arbor, even though he had been made of stone. To forget the world, if only for a moment. It is never the right time to say what she wants to; and she is never certain how she feels. She only knows that as distraught as she is, Arbor is worse. He will need time to grieve. To find himself again.

She is always a day late and a dollar short.

Kassandra will need guidance. And like before with Kirito, with Harbinger. She will do her best. She has always wanted a little sister.

It is unfortunate that this one does not care for her company.

“What does the other side hold for me?”

It is a loaded question. A smoking revolver with five in the chamber. Spin the cylinder and pray for a click.

What did it hold for Katelyn over the years?

Iain. Weaver. Tamron. Faux and Carmen.

Heartbreak. Heartache. Confusion. Pain. There are good moments too. But every time she is knocked down, they become a little harder to hold onto. There is scar tissue on her heart. Bruises on her soul. One day, she thinks that she will fall and she will not get back up. But not yet.

What did the other side hold for Kass?

“That depends on what you do next,” she says, shrugging her shoulders and looking down at her hands. They were made for frosting cakes. Rolling pie crust. Pushing chocolate chips down into dough.

They were never meant for taking life. But they had.

Kassandra should have been swimming at the old watering hole at this age. Eating peaches and laughing with wild abandon with her playmates. There was too much maturity too fast. Fourteen. Was Katelyn ever that young?

“You can be like I was a decade ago. Be loud and refuse to play their games. Push the envelope.” She stares at the names circling her arms, accusing her. Reminding her. The game is rigged from the start. It always is. There are no victors. No winners. Only survivors.

What did the future hold?

Another Iona Holbrook. Desimae Warble. Walherich Cnaimhin, Felix Lacroix.

“Keep pushing until they make everyone you care about suffer. Make you suffer.”

Annora and Arianna Taylor. Carrita Nessage. Drake Harvest. Rex Antilles.

“And then you find out that all your idealism was for nothing.”

There is a terrible chair and a cell. A jailer with perfect teeth and eyes that never quite stay on your face. There are muddled memories of playing pretend. Of being someone you are not. Of being who they want you to be instead of who you are.

Appletini's on your tongue. 

Salome. Raquel. Gabriel.

“One day, you wake up and you find yourself giving someone else the advice you wish you’d taken.”

Josephine Emerson. Sirrah Birnam. Mercy Woods. Ping Lanhua.

“I can hazard a guess as to what you’re thinking, and I’m warning you,” she raises an eyebrow questioningly, trying to see the girl in front of her instead of the reflection in the mirror.

Jacob Fel.

“What comes next depends on you.”

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[sbeeg]

Kass swallows. Her throat is impossibly dry and the motion takes more effort than it should. A pain aches in her shoulder, phantom pain tingling down the arm that no longer exists.

"I don't care about anyone." She feels the lie like sand against her tongue. There is one- Killian.

Everyone else is gone. Everyone else is peripheral. She cared about Dio more than she had cared about anyone in District Eleven and she lost him in the dark.

"I don't have parents. I don't have siblings. I don't love anyone."

What she was working for was in sync with Killian. He was the only thorn in her side- the only person that might make her pause.

But he wouldn't want her to.

She gave an exasperated laugh and threw a hand out motioning to Persimmon.

"You victors- you make it all too easy," she said. "You fall in love, you have children. Children. You bring infants into this world knowing what they'll do to them."

She looked away, staring down at the clean white bed sheets. She was young, untethered.

"It's not idealism. It's action."

She felt that mean spark within her chest. The one she didn't need to fan, but she did anyway.

"Not that you would know about that," she said. Her eyes drifted to the side table. "But thanks for the fudge, I'm sure that'll make complying easier."

^{[ DARS ]}