throne of glass // flynn & astrid; vt

[✨ zozo.]

She hasn't slept for three days, newspaper type seared into the back of her eyes. NUCLEAR EXPLOSION IN DISTRICT SIX, Astrid's aged ten years in two short months. She knows what that means.

A warning shot. A coincidence. One of the two, but she's never been a gambling girl. She's made decisions based on practicality, fact and reason. Creative flair, sure, but she's the details girl. It's why they let her unleash the gas - strong enough to weaken them, not strong enough to kill them. They had to do that themselves. Better for the cameras. Better for the audience.

Lore Gaultier falling over the side-rail of the Overpass with Flynn Garner's bullet in her neck and it was game over for Astrid. A blind boy had already managed to shoot Nanette in the eye and Lenox LaChance plucked a spear out of a dead legacy's hands, Lore was her last hope. A show-stopper, a Cricket reimagined, Lore could have been brilliant had the odds been in Astrid Zane's favour.

Two District Twelves, an Eleven still alive and no careers. Astrid had heard rumours about what Snow had done to Gamemakers who left finales to children with double-digit Districts. In a frenzy she'd made a back-up plan, woken up leaning over the controls of her desk, survived off of coffee and shots of something sparkling they said would keep her awake for longer.

She was too paranoid to eat then, and she's too paranoid to eat now, but they insisted Astrid dine with the Victor tonight. Whether it was a sick joke, a lesson to be taught, or simply a kind gesture given to the newest and youngest, she hadn't figured out yet. But Astrid wasn't stupid. She knew that it was fine to hope for the latter and foolish to ignore the former. Thin ice, she felt herself crack underneath the weight she put on herself.

The Council sees all, so she gets dressed and takes their carriage to meet Flynn Garner with twelve sets of eyes at the back of her head. Of course there was Hades, remarkably terrifying, and she's at a point where she thinks he is on her side. All shadows and ambition, Astrid is still trying to work out if he envies her more than he loathes her - all the while asking the same questions about herself.

She does not envy Flynn Garner, who tonight has the chance to ask her all the questions she has no answers to. She takes a seat at the table, ignoring the set menu laid out in front of them, and cups her chin in her hand as she studies her Victor. They told her she shouldn't have picked favourites, but they should have known a rookie would make mistakes. They are tied together forever, whether they like it or not. Might as well try and get to know him, even if he is no Lorraine, no Silk, no Nanette.

"You're taller in person," she begins casually as Avoxes fill their glasses with pink champagne and serve entrees underneath their noses. "They tell me the opposite around here."

She bites her tongue, swallowing down a desperate desire to ask about what happened in Six. Twelve sets of eyes, she blinks softly and continues.

"But I find it's good to be underestimated. You end up surprising people."

— ★ —

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

♕

I am not sure why there had to be a disaster in Six just a few months after I came home. A thirteen-year-old boy, a threat to the existence of the Capitol’s tyranny? I don’t see why, I have been a good boy throughout this whole tour... Grandpa had been huffing and puffing about it though, his pharmaceutical warehouse was in the exclusion zone, I heard the moans, the mentioning of my name. The glamorous idea of a victor grandson and a bedroom in said victor grandson’s new mansion quicky fell out when his own money-making business depleted for a moment.

So, District Six gets punished because the pre-teen came home. It is not like I am from Eleven. I wonder what Teddy has been doing wrong all these years.

There has been so many faces, and so many names to remember. Ten-minute meetings and quick handshakes. So many handshakes, especially in the Capitol. They must really like grabbing blood-stained hands, but they are quick to fill their palms with hand sanitising gel afterwards. Even my own escort keeps filling mine with the strong stuff, followed by a dollop of moisturiser. It is all so clean but even the stench of the sewage lake still clings onto my nostril hairs amongst all the fruity aromas.

In the Capitol, there is no time to breath. A regimented schedule that cannot go over the minute. I have no say in anything. No say in what I wear. No say in how I smile. I am not allowed to show my teeth. They want me to wear braces and still, the so-called surgeons keep nagging me to accept a new grown ear or at least a prosthetic one. Nope. It is my only visible scar. My only visible reminder of my worst week in existence. The other’s get a gravestone, mine is a void at the side of my head.

Every night ends with a meal. Not a can of sardines but a set menu in a loud restaurant where cutlery clatters and conversations are whispered across the tables. It is one of the gamemakers who I have the pleasure of dining with tonight…great! Astrid, the escort said she is a new one. A rookie in the art of killing teenagers in a fashionable way. I could curse her for everything that happened. For tearing Nanette away from me, for sending Silk Le Roux into our path. For everything. But I have been the goodish boy they have wanted throughout. Astrid is always going to be one of my gamemakers. She is never going to be my friend, but she is always going to be there, every year that I have left.

Champagne fills the chutes besides my head and the bottom of my plate quickly vanishes beneath tiny pieces of fancy foodstuff. Astrid is the first to speak as my eyes follow the different avoxes who present a collection of dishes on silver platters. ”How small did you think I was?” It is not really the best opener, to say I am just barely over five foot tall. The radiation poisoning, thanks to Astrid, has probably stumped any kind of imminent growth spurt. Though the Capitol surgeons reassure me that their out of this world medicines will stop any kind of radiation side-effects. I will get back to them in twenty years’ time…

”Who would you have preferred over me? I doubt many people were putting money on the thirteen year old kid.”Damn that came out without a thought though is obvious, the Lightening Rod Le Roux and Warrior Nanette are my bet. Meathead Revan had the mind and punch for it but the tag of Eleven caused him to leave us prematurely.

”I know it’s not the best question to open with,” Especially not with all the ears and the eyes I can see on me in the restaurant. I am only a kid; I can’t be perfect... ”But whatever let’s put a bullet in the elephant in the room. Tell me. I know nobody in here really wanted me sat in here, snacking on…” I pick up a pink curly, grilled looking meat or fish thing from my plate. Not exactly enjoying its texture between my fingertips. ”…shrimp?”

[kiah]

[✨ zozo.]

He opens up with a question and Astrid likes that about him, taking a sip of pink champagne before responding. The edge of her glass leaves her painted lips and there's no stain, perfection. The bubbles giggle on her tongue and scream as they're swallowed, "About Saffron Lowe's size," the young Gamemaker responds, "when she came out of the arena."

Tiny is the short answer. Young. Too young.

He's got a quick-sharp tongue, as all thirteen year old's do. But he's not angry - or if he is, he doesn't show it. There's a curiousity in his words that feels innately familiar to Astrid. Always trying to understand the who and what and most importantly: why.

They said not to play favourites, but she wants to be honest with Flynn. Two minutes in to dinner and he's surprised her. Perhaps they are more alike than she had initially thought.

"Truthfully," she sighs, placing her glass down and exchanging it for a nine-carat plated fork, "Lorraine."

She lets the weight of the dead girl's name hang in the air for a moment, replaying the way she fell over the overpass rail in style in her head. Damn it, Lorraine would have been good. But slowly, slowly, Flynn Garner is forcing Astrid's attention.

He's a survivor - that counts for something. He beat all biases and odds stacked against him and he damn well knows it.

At least he's not delusional. That'll keep him alive for a few more years.

"Or Silk, or Nannette. I'll let you in on a secret, Flynn," Astrid pauses to take a bite of whatever they have served them for the entrée - fish, she thinks, perhaps salmon.

"They always want the Careers to win. But a kid from Six, right smack-bang in the middle, it's... acceptable for a first attempt."

He guesses the crustacean, smiles slightly at his incorrect answer, takes another sip - god help her if she starts to feel affection for a kid who shot Lore Gaultier clean through the neck.

"Prawn," she corrects with a wink. "Close enough."

— ★ —