little lamb . arrows

[cass]

o c t a v i a .

Come away little lamb
Come away to the water
Give yourself so we might live a new
Come away little lamb
Come away to the slaughter

Octavia prided herself on her ability to hate all the children living in her house. Sometimes she questioned why she was doing it at all. She had chosen to never have children, chosen to never marry. All of it, because she hated the idea of being tied to another person. She just hated people. Yet, here she was, standing in one of the Districts fancier clothing stores, fingers eying each and every outfit before her. Her gaze was powerful, taking in the stitches of each shirt, pushing aside the one with a flat seam line, throwing the one with a smear of dirt onto the floor with an angry grunt.

The shopkeeper had learned that she was to listen, follow and do as she was told. Octavia had the money to spend, and the women knew that if she just patiently waited and did as she was bid it would flow into her pockets. With a heavy sigh, Octavia grabbed a blue shirt, the material felt like silk, it looked like silk and it was silk, buttttttttt-

She threw it onto the floor, flicking her hand through a few more before raising a carefully designed eyebrow in interest. A manicured finger scooped at the tag, an appreciative whistle echoing as she looked at the price. That wasn’t too bad. The price was high, but she could play with it, convincing the shop owner to half the cost. Octavia had a way with words.

She flicked her eyes to the watch on her wrist, a scowl embedding itself into her weathered face. He was late. She had taken the time to invite him here, and more so she had promised him a party at a famous house in District Two. He was supposed to be one of the better ones, a shining example of what it meant to be worth her time.

The bell shop dinged, “you’re late,” she growled, turning to look as Beau entered the shop. Tch.

“You were supposed to be here five minutes ago,” she pulled off the shirt she had been eyeing, throwing the white button-up in his direction. “You’ll be trying on this,” she moved onwards, striding over to the pants section, heels smacking against the ground. “These pants,” she grabbed a black bowtie, tossing it at him as well, before moving over to the jackets. The one she had picked was also black, the cuff lined with a crimson red, that also filled the inner pockets. “This as well,” she said, pulling it down, before turning it and laying it onto the pile in his arms.

The shoes she had spotted as she’d walked into the shop were already by the change room. Beau stared at her as if waiting for her to throw another piece of clothing at his face. She folded her arms, a foot extending against the wooden floor, tap, tap, tap,. “Well,” she snapped, “go get changed, I don’t have all day.”

[Arrows]

b e a u    

Whoever said summertime living is easy, Beau wants to punch them in the face. Overhead, the sun's eye burns brightly against the pavement pushing waves of rolling heat up into the air. Back on the streets, Beau never knew if he had enough water when the sweltering summers came. Now, it may damn well get him killed. Even as his feet fall onto the street in swift succession, the sun's solar throne is slowing him slightly. When Octavia invites you to a formal event and needs you to get fitted, you cannot be late. Yet here he is sweat stained and sprinting across the District with more water in his armpits than hair. Meanwhile, she is probably already at the shop turning a tie into a whip.

Beau bounds onto the broad avenue of District Two's Town Square just as he slams into another boy. A cry erupts from the crash as the other boy's knee bends in all the wrong directions. This has to be a fucking joke, Beau thinks to himself as his own body lands in a writhing mess on top of the other's. Nearby, some woman is shouting at him something about how her son had told Beau to watch out. Beau's ears burn. He hadn't heard the warning. He pushes back the flooding fear in his veins as he fumbles to his feet and keeps running. The wrath of some Mother over her son's broken leg is nothing compared to the hellfire of Octavia if he is even another minute more tardy. Not to mention, the boy sounds like a little bitch.

Outside of the shop, Beau forces himself to stop as his fingers furl around the door handle. His face is red with sweat and soot from the street and his hair is a mangled mess. Struasses provide perfection and this is far from it. Searching the street, Beau quickly rushes over to a nearby drinking fountain and makes himself presentable. It may seem minor to the outside world, but  maintaining an image of such status is just as important to keeping Beau from having to kill yet another Strauss. It's always about the show.

Stepping into the shop with the gentle chime of the door's bell, Beau hurries himself to Octavia and the warpath she is sewing throughout the store. It takes her all of a single second to growl her disapproval at his lateness. The sound of her sharp voice sends shrills down Beau's stiffened spine despite his hearing taking some of the edge off of her tone. This was the woman he chose to follow, so he is careful not to show even a slight sign of his fear. Should he even seem somewhat weak she would pluck him like a flower and throw him into a fire. No no, Beau Strauss is her perfect show star career with absolutely excellent hearing of course. Maybe if he keeps telling himself that then it will become true.

"Yes Ma'am, my apologies. A fight at the center went longer than expected when they tried to have two others attack me at once. I had to make proper fools of them both of course."

It's true, the unexpected duo was what originally set Beau behind schedule. As for the run in with the other boy, well, she doesn't need to know about that. Instead, Beau holds out his hands and catches the clothes she sends in his direction. He doesn't even have a moment to take in the items before Octavia orders him off to the changing rooms. Beau bows his head calmly beneath the brutal bite of her bark.

"Right away."

The changing room supplies Beau with a few seconds of safety in seclusion. As he shifts outfits and his fingers fumble with fancy buttons, he takes the time he needs to breathe and settle himself. The whole day sure seemed like one long sprint and this was finally his moment to catch a breath. Still though, he doesn't delay. The instant he is done changing he steps out from the room and before the eyes of Octavia. The outfit is brilliant, black with red lining. Seeing himself in the mirror, Beau can see that it really makes his eyes piercing and powerful. The bow tie isn't his favorite, it takes all of his effort not to fiddle with it, but if Octavia likes it then he will wear it.

"The red is nice, like blood."

Beau admits. Strausses are supposed to be strong, so wearing something that signifies the blood of their enemies seems right.

"Anything else I should try on?"

 s t r a u s s    

[cass]

o c t a v i a .

Come away little lamb
Come away to the water
Give yourself so we might live a new
Come away little lamb
Come away to the slaughter

The magazine she flicked through was filled with Capitol stories. There was some breaking news about Ky Earnest being seen for the first time in ten years. She raised an eyebrow in curiosity, she wondered if he was any good, her mother had been a Career, but in reality, Opal Shore -no wait, Earnest, had been shit. The only reason she was paraded around as an ideal image was because she wore a shiny crown on her head. Emerald had been a career, bloodthirsty and savage, Opal was just a pretender using her prestigious family name.

Octavia had watched those games, she’d been a terrified little girl, scared to hurt people, invested in her plants and nothing more. She’d be the first to admit that it had been impressive when she had immolated that one tribute, the first one to ever do so, but other than that she had been a screaming blubbering mess. How pathetic did you have to be to lose an arm and a leg? Octavia was certain that the kids Victor was training would do no such thing. It wasn’t that hard to dodge a sword swipe from some scrawny child from District Eleven.

Her lip curled in distaste as she flicked through the pages, it was all so boring, the last victor worth her time had been Cricket. She had hoped that the Fray boy would be good, but he had just turned out to be a sensitive mess, blubbering about loss and guilt. Octavia hoped that the children in her house would have the sense to be like Cricket, a ruthless, selfish murderer. There was nothing more appealing then to watch as Cricket became a Gamemaker, it was a beautiful storyline and Octavia was impressed by few things, but this? She respected it.

The change room curtain pulled back, and Octavia looked up, leaning back as she took in Beau. He looked good, really good and she had to remind herself that he was too young. If the devil had her entire soul she would play some more games with him, but she resisted, instead nodding once before tossing the magazine aside and standing up.

“It works,” she said, reaching forward to straighten the bow tie around his neck. She preferred the high style a bow tie gave as opposed to a necktie. It was fancier, more regal than a string hanging from your neck. She reached behind him, grabbing the pocket square she had put aside whilst he had changed. It was the same blood red as the rest of the outfit, and it tied the entire piece together. Stepping back she admired the appearance for a moment longer, a finger resting against her lip as she looked him up and down.

She couldn’t, no, he was too young.

“That’s the one, you’ll be wearing it tonight to the event. We will go together, I will meet you by the front gate at 8pm.” She picked up her handbag, moving to the counter she pulled out a few bills and placed them on the table. The lady looked at her, and then looked at the outfit Beau was wearing before looking at the money she’d been given. “This isn’t en-”

“Oh darling, trust me, it’s enough. Valerie, your mother, I'm sure she's spoken of me, considering last year I slept with her husband. She really shouldn't have tried to tell Indigo that I was a bad, bad person. Twenty years of marriage, would you believe it, gone just like that. All because your mother couldn't keep her mouth shut and mind her own business, pity, really." She sighed dramatically, narrowing her gaze on her prey. "Have you ever wondered-" she glanced down at the girl's name badge- "Bella, how your mum ended up in that crazy house?" She leaned forward, giving the shopkeeper her coldest smile; a warning.

“So, do we have a problem?” She asked sweetly, raising a hand, eyes shifting to admire her nails. Tears welled up in Bella's eyes and she looked like she was about to start sobbing as her hands fumbled over the few notes Octavia had thrown down.

“Good girl,” Octavia turned, waving Beau onwards before strutting out of the shop.