on the lips of neglect [Callum/Ezra]

[pogue]

C   A   L   L   U   M

♛

The walls are making fun of him again, and the armor made of satin sheets and silk pajamas can't protect him. The lights from outside flicker and dance across the walls of his room and the thump thump thump of Capitol music laughs at him as he trembles, vibrations running through his bones and laying to rest on his shattered heart.

Between the brutal training and the constant need to gain skills for his own survival, every part of his body was screaming at him that he needed sleep, to wrap himself within the ice-cold bed sheets and let his body drown. Yet even with a million soldiers inside his bones begging for rest his brain wouldn't let it happen, the thump thump thump of his heartbeat a chorus to his own suffering.


you can sleep when you're dead             his brain says

and that time is fast approaching          his heart whispers back


Like every other night he eventually pulls rips the sheets off of his body and lets them fall to the floor, whispering sweet nothings into the night as they slide from the bed. Normally, he found himself walking the hallways at night, the sanitized air of the training center squeezing every sin from his lungs and laughing at the ending of his own story. Though, after his bone-rattling encounter with Hellemine the night prior he found himself not wanting to explore what lies around each corner again. 

So he climbs, the cold sting of the metal Capitol stairs pressing against the soles of his bare feet and shocking his system from whatever slumber it had slipped into. He had chosen to climb because after three nights he had actually wanted to feel the groans and protests of his own body, so used to it he was from Twelve. A weird thing to be missing, for sure, but he has discovered that dead men find themselves wanting weird things.

On the eighteenth flight his wish is granted, and when he finally opens the door to the roof of the training center his lungs come alive, cooled summer air wrapping itself around him. The lights of the city give him a show, blinking and blurring and painting the rooftops an explosive mixture of blues, pinks, and purples. He sighs softly before sitting down on the ground, resting his body backwards on his arms.

He'd called the Capitol a kingdom not long ago, but he's not sure if it's a kingdom or a graveyard.


but, does it matter?                              his brain asks him

they are one and the same                  his heart agrees

[goat]

ezra valencia

He hates to admit it, but the kitchen inside Three's tribute apartment is incredible. It's all colorful glass, pale hues that read neon from certain angles, and it never looks dirty, even when you've spent all night rolling out dough on its surfaces. The oven preheats in seconds, and doesn't blow out a cloud of hot air when you open the door. The burners on the stove glow multicolored, lighting up the undersides of the pans as he stirs fruit and sugar into a filling, and all of the burners work— he thought he'd never see the day.

Ezra pulls the last batch of hand pies from the oven. The kitchen was stocked with all sorts of fruits, apples and berries and strange hybrids. He'd made them into fillings while being careful to leave enough fruit behind in case Zenia or Atticus wanted any. Whatever filling was left over got poured into jars. He figured they'd make a nice jam when they cooled.

One of the avoxes returns with a pile of plastic bags. He thanks them profusely, offers them a pie in return, but they can't take it. Under the electric ceiling lights that never seem to dim, he sorts the pies into twelve packages. He puts more in for the apartments he knows house more people— eleven, twelve— and still manages to have pies left over.

"Huh," he says to himself, standing with his hands on his hips. He supposes he's spent so long cooking for the community that it's a bit hard to make his recipes smaller.

He understands that there are no friends in the games. He knows that people who are civil to him now will have no issue attacking him when the countdown hits zero. Still, he can't bring himself to be cruel. He's a helper at heart. If a couple hand pies help someone feel better during all this, he's happy to do it.

He takes the elevator down to the first floor and leaves the first bag outside One's door. The rest of the apartments follow, as quick as he can get the elevator to move. He doesn't want to take any credit for these surprised baked goods, so he leaves soon after knocking.

The last bag is placed outside Twelve's door, and he's left with a bag of excess pies and no use for them. He thinks about eating them himself, before sharing a silent laugh with the elevator. There's a part of him that doesn't particularly want to go back to the apartment. It's late, sure, but he's wide awake. He reaches out and presses another button.

When the elevator can't go any further, he takes the stairs. At the top, he pushes open the rooftop door, and quickly finds he isn't alone. He recognizes the boy, of course— Callum, from Twelve. He's tried to remember the names of every tribute. It's the polite thing to do.

"Hey," he says to the boy. "Want one? I left more outside your door."

He offers the bag of leftover pies before turning and looking past the rooftop, at the skyline of the Capitol. "These are the same people who think Three is ugly. I wonder if they've ever looked at their own city."

[pogue]

C   A   L   L   U   M

♛

The soft wind of the training center rooftop embeds itself through his bones, carrying the soft whispers of the city with it. Still, it does nothing to mask the soft creak of the rooftop door from behind him. Instinctively, Callum's guard lifts and the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. For a second he wonders why, after the numerous training center and rooftop interactions he had had across the past week, his body still reacts as if it is in danger whenever it hears the door creak. Then again, he cannot be angry at his own mind for remembering that at the end of this week he would be forced to kill anyone that he had stitched together some form of relationship with, even his allies. Kestrel, Bird, Hellemine, Steel, the memories of all of the conversations he'd had with his fellow tributes dance through his mind as he sits, their names recorded within his journal as a memento to the dead. He'd never thought ghosts would be so active.

"Hey." The voice calls to him, and Callum's palms press into the rooftop as he turns his head towards the voice, squinting as he makes out the figure walking towards him. Ezra, the boy from three. He'd seen his reaping video playing on repeat throughout the Training Center televisions, every facial expression and movement he'd made analyzed to the point of redundancy. The Capitol had crafter their own stories for each one of them, spinning a tale like a spiders web and dropping them like flies. In his hands he carries a small plastic bag, and as he continues to walk towards him Callum pulls his hands from behind him and crosses his legs underneath his body, straightening his posture before watching Ezra come and stand next to him.

"Want one? I left more outside your door." 

Callum's first instinct is to roll his eyes, and his second is to ignore him. One of the District Twelve escorts had mentioned in passing the help that bribery could give a tribute, but Callum had never been one to leave gifts on the steps. That had been Elijah's purpose in life, but it had never gotten him far with Callum. Though, his stomach betrays him and pangs as the smell of the pies drowns his nostrils, and Callum averts his gaze back to the skyline as he takes a pie out of the bag, holding it softly within his hands before popping a small piece into his mouth. The taste matches the smell, and Callum follows his previous bite with a second larger one as Ezra speaks again.

"These are the same people who think Three is ugly. I wonder if they've ever looked at their own city."

Callum studies the soft lights that flow from the rooftops as he chews, taking his time in swallowing the food before responding.

"I haven't been able to make up my mind yet if The Capitol is beautiful or terrifying. It still looks better than Twelve, but I guess that's a low bar to clear."

He bites off another piece of the pie before motioning towards the bag that now sits at his left, looking back up at Ezra as he stands.

"Going for bribery to keep yourself alive, huh?"