rest on your laurels || patricia & beck VT blitz
May 27, 2020 13:52:21 GMT -5
Post by maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte] on May 27, 2020 13:52:21 GMT -5
Ghosts hung upon the horizon like a fog, his fingers skimming against their desperate hold as it lolls out of the train's open window. District Four was but a forgotten memory, a smattering of grayish-green to marr the roaring wildfire of dawn. Homecoming hadn't felt anything like home, more like he was back in the eye of the storm and those terrible creatures were spearing him upon those same sharp ends. Except now he was as much of a a monster as they. Leaving it behind meant he could breathe again. Not easy, no it was never easy, but at least he could breathe.
District Five was a safehaven of predictable expectation. Looking out at solemn strangers with a candied smile felt so good. No one here would pretend he was a hero, the only truth to be found within this crowd was the bite of envy that occasionally broke through their manufactured adoration. He was grateful that some still had the will to be so honest.
Sailor had curled his hair today, the ringlets were stiff and starchy against his cheeks and it was all he could to keep himself from raking his fingers through the perfection. The flash of camera lenses were the whisper of a threat against the pulse thrumming just beneath his jaw, rapid as a rabbit's between canine fangs. They couldn't kill him now, he was the epitome of Panem's success, but Beck was quick learning there were fates worse than death. The prospect of finding one of those terrible endings is what kept him bowed at the foot of Snow's throne, head bent in spite of the crown laid upon it.
Meeting with the other victors hadn't been so bad, though. Beck was hesitant to call any part of this tour a highlight, but so many seemed to understand. Not explicitly in words or actions and Beck is partway to fearing it's all in his head but fantasies of understanding are better than nothing at all.
He's nervous. He'd heard stories of Lethe and less of Patricia - the latter hadn't even shown up to the speech he'd foolishly bellowed not hours before.
He'd watched the districts decay as he made a home in each but Five marked a downward spiral into poverty and imperfection. He saw it in the way the cameras chose to focus more on his face than the rolling expanse of cramped houses and smog-stained horizon. The Capitol didn't want her people to see how these sad things lived, lest they might gain some twinge of sympathy.
Beck admits he never thought much of them before now, before Walter had woven stories of wanting everything he'd always had. Still, Victor's village is as grand as it was always meant to be but it is little more than a ghost town. The warm light spilling through the windows of occupied houses doesn't feel like a gift but a taunt.
(Look at what you could have. Look at what you never will.) Victors weren't meant to come from District Five, were they? That's the very reason the Capitol loved Beck as they did. The shackles around his ankles shift, tinny and shrill as it rings in his ears.
"Lethe needs a few moments to prepare for dinner, she'll be ready to see you in a while." A stranger speaks to him, as always her eyes attempt to bore into his own and Beck finds himself desperate for anything but. He rests his hand beneath his jaw, choosing to gaze out the carriage window instead.
"Yeah, sure."
His focus falls upon a garden resting in his periphery. It doesn't belong Lethe, he's parked just outside the Victor's house. Still it wasn't as manicured as those gutted mansions littering the length of this street. A woman sits within its belly, smoke curling out from between her lips. Patricia, it must be. Beck's knuckles go white as a craving sears up his spine like needles dug shallowly into his skin: how long has it been since I had a cigarette?
It didn't match his image. Beck Hailsham was meant to be a career not some pathetic teenager with a thousand vices and the will to do whatever he needs to access them. A long forgotten spark of rebellion ignites within him, quiet as he can he slips out from under his handler's nose and toward the other Victor. He can't help but be curious about her, she doesn't seem to play the game the way the others do.
Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
As he draws closer his confidence begins to wane, sure steps stutter to a halt at the mouth of the garden. What was he thinking?! What had he thought he was going to say?
Hey I'm the newest victor! I was wondering why you don't pretend to worship me like anybody else, also can I bum a cigarette?
He's two seconds from turning away when destiny betrays him. His prostethic catches upon a patch of mud and he's still not used to the damned thing so half a second later he's crashing into the fence he'd tried to turn away from.
Pain, not unfamiliar anymore, greets him. His vision swims, followed by a pitiful groan as he catches himself upon his elbows and manages to skin them both in the process. "Fuck."