Chapter Text
Observation - Orville:
The only thing Orville Straud had wished for upon graduating from university, the job he dreamed of since childhood - was becoming a District Escort for the Hunger Games. Any district, really, he would have even taken Twelve . The man worked tirelessly - late nights studying past escorts, memorizing protocols and etiquette, schmoozing up to the Capitol’s most elite citizens, practicing the yearly speech in front of his mirror every night, and sculpting an image that could make him unique - iconic even. He’d even landed a broadcast internship with Caesar Flickerman during the second quarter quell - at only twenty years old! Twenty! It was Caesar himself that had recommended Orville to the posting with District Five when he graduated. A posting he accepted with honor, grace, and poise.
After six years of working under Alara Vox, he was starting to think that Caesar Flickerman might have done this because he hated him. That woman is a walking nightmare in a silk robe and hideous slippers, I don’t know how I manage. She’s saddled him with her youngest boy this year - it’s not uncommon - Vox has never cared much for entertaining the little ones with pretenses of their survival. Orville found this cruel, truly. There had been younger contenders he remembered from earlier years of watching the games - no victors, this was true, but to write them off as having no chance considering the rich history of the games offended him. Orville watched every broadcast of the Hunger Games with nearly religious fervor since he was just three years old. If there was no chance for someone of that age to win, the Capitol wouldn’t select such young children. That would just be senseless and cruel!
He would never, ever tell her these thoughts of course. Rumor has it she had her last escort marked as a traitor and sent to work as an avox. Not that she did, of course, Orville knew the woman personally - she was a friend of his old professor’s and he has it on good authority that she retired quite happily from her service with not a single kindness to spare for the lady in red. He did, however, value having a job with such prestige and
This year's boy made him feel particularly ill about the whole situation. Coulomb Vexel - tiny thing, absolute mess of blonde hair and sad little eyes he only recently realized were blue after the boy had stopped crying long enough to look at him and ask if they could see his mentor. She’d rejected him immediately, of course. But if Orville’s advanced degree in Hospitality Services taught him one thing, it was how to please a guest. He’d honed in on the boy’s love of sweets immediately - he’s always said his sixth sense is customer satisfaction, of course.
He starts to take the boy down the hall, as far away from Alara and the girl as he can, towards the dining car to get Coulomb his chocolate torte. He’s begun quietly sobbing again, and Orville offers him a gloved hand in a gesture of comfort. Poor fellow, probably for the best that I take care of him from here. He spares a quick glance toward the door of the Volt girl’s sleeping car and feels his heart sink even further. Don’t bother, Vox will kill you if you speak to her new favorite toy. Orville feels it sink even further when the boy beside him asks “Why does Ms. Vox hate me so much?”
“Oh.” The word just kind of slips from his mouth in a failure of etiquette he hasn’t experienced since his university days. “Ah. Well. I don’t think she hates you so much. Well. She just…” The boy bursts into shrieking tears again. He can’t tell him the truth or he’ll destroy the poor child, he can’t lie to him or his gut will ache, so he just kind of… flounders for a few moments in silence as they walk to the dining car, towing little Coulomb behind him. He’s so small, even for his age, we’ll have to get him fed before the games. That’s a mission that Orville feels he is suited for - not explaining the complexities of life and death to a twelve year old bound for the arena.
Claudius, one of the hosts and a dear friend of Orville’s in spite of their… class differences, is already in the dining car setting up the buffet spread for dinner later. “Claudius! Love of my life, tell me you have some of that marvelous torte that Tiberius makes set out already?” The handsome gentleman in the sleek black host’s uniform raises an eyebrow and glances behind him at Coulomb, clearly questioning the presence of the young tribute in such a sorry state.
“She’s got a real favorite this year - more intense than usual. The boy will be my responsibility it seems.” Orville looks back at Coulomb and gives him his best attempt at a warm smile. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind at all. We can just avoid the…” He drops his voice to a whisper “… mean lady…” then brings it back to performance pitch “and you and I will just make sure you have a grand time enjoying the Capitol. You’ve earned it, afterall, being chosen for something so brave!” He’s doing his best to convince the child that there’s something worth smiling about. The boy at least makes a small attempt at one that gets slightly larger when he calls Vox ‘mean’. Well, he’s got a decent eye for danger at least…
Claudius nods solemnly at the two of them, then holds up a finger - One moment. He spins around with a flip of that gorgeous, flowing brunette crown he has and strides through the double doors into the kitchen attached to the dining car. “I think this means yes to the torte, my young friend.” he whispers to Coulomb like he’s telling a secret.
“Mr. Orville, I don’t think I know what a torte is.” Orville has to raise a silken-gloved hand to his chest to steady himself at the revelation.
“You poor, deprived little thing!” He has to take a breath to steady himself. “It’s something like a chocolate cake, with no flour. It’s got a more luxurious texture, and tastes a fair bit richer. Don’t worry - Claudius will make sure you get an extra helping. It’s my absolute favorite treat on these long train rides.” If I don’t put a few pounds on him between here and the Capitol, the boy might starve to death on the platform before the fighting even starts. He feels tears welling up in his eyes again and has to steel himself.
Claudius returns from the kitchen with an entire, sliced, perfectly presented chocolate torte. He nods to Orville and the boy, then begins to set a table with the cake at the center - two plates, two forks, a silver serving spatula, and even two glasses of vanilla-flavored milk to round out the spread. Orville leads the boy around to the side of the table, pulling out a chair for him, making a big show of putting a napkin across his lap and making sure he’s at ease before sitting himself across the way. You should know something of comfort, my young friend, and that is my specialty.
Coulomb serves himself a healthy slice of the chocolate dessert. He eyes it on the end of his fork for a moment before shoving an unsightly-sized bite into his mouth all at once - smearing half the chocolate across his face in the process. Perhaps some etiquette lessons are in order as well - for later, once we’ve chased off those Reaping Day scaries. “Is it to your liking?” he has to ask, it’s protocol, even though he can already see the boy going back for another, impossibly large bite. Coulomb just nods and gives him a half-hearted thumbs up with the hand that isn’t busy with his fork.
He can see Claudius standing off to the side - he shoots the two of them one of those tv-ready smiles of his. A pity he’d never be able to broadcast in his position. Orville wasn’t sure why Claudius was made an avox - they had only met long after the deed was done and it wasn’t as if he could tell him why. He knows this is usually reserved for the worst of the worst sorts of criminals and traitors - but he just can’t bring himself to see his dear friend doing anything of that sort. He sees Claudius tap his left ear twice - a sign of warning they’ve developed over their six years of working under the thumb of Alara Vox together. The handsome host can hear the doors opening from down the hall again. She’s coming this way.
He has but a moment to warn the child. He whispers, quick and hushed “Coulomb, my young friend, please listen. Don’t speak too much when Ms. Vox comes around, alright?” If she overhears him she’ll have him fired, for sure, but he can’t help himself. If he can, he has to spare the boy from the worst of her. “Right now, she doesn’t see you exist. That’s for the best. Her cruelty is reserved for the ones she sees most clearly. Don’t make yourself a target .” It is the single most egregious breach of protocol in his career. He feels no guilt about it.
The first thing he notices when the door opens is the crimson-clad form of Alara Vox, striding in like she owns the entire room and everyone inside of it. Well. She sort of does, I suppose. The second thing he notices is the other tribute, the older girl - the one who’s name he butchered in front of her entire District. I’m so sorry, really. She’s wearing one of Alara’s silk robes - the black one with the gorgeous red embroidery. He hasn’t seen Alara in this one since the 57th Games, truly, he thought she lost it or threw it out somewhere when the trends changed. She looks… Orville can’t really get a good read on her feelings from her face - she’s just as stern and severe as she was on the Reaping Day stage. What he can clearly see, however, is the arm that Vox has draped over the girl’s shoulder leading her around like… like… What in the name of Snow has she done to her nails?
The third, and most striking thing he’s noticed is that Alara Vox has filed her signature black claws down to rounded tips - just on the one hand - the other is just as he remembers it from the first time he saw her make a public appearance when he was just six years old. He remembers asking his mother then, why she had such scary claws. She told him it was because she was fierce - a fighter - someone to be admired. At this moment she certainly seemed fierce, but over the last years of working with her he learned she was perhaps not someone to be admired. And right now, with her singular-filed-hand draped over this young lady’s shoulder… She looks practically predatory.
As she walks past Claudius, the avox man turns to Orville and makes a gesture towards the Volt girl, then towards Alara. He kind of crosses his hands over each other a few times - as if he’s asking what’s happening between them. All Orville can do in response is give him a subtle shrug. But whatever it is, it’s going to be disastrous.
Alara’s voice cuts over the light, instrumental background music in the room like a knife. “Orville! You’ve had enough chocolate for three lifetimes - get your avox to bring us something with substance!” Sigh. You could just ask yourself, you know. He’s gotten very good at making that sort of commentary internally during their time together. She leads the girl over to the booth at the far corner - blessedly away from little Coulomb who looks as if he’s just seen a lion walk into the dining car.
The way Alara just coils around the girl like that makes him feel… queasy. The feeling doubles when she sits her down in the booth and uses her soft-tipped hand to guide the young lady’s face to look at her like she’s coaxing a lover into a kiss. She wouldn’t do that, would she? She’s just doing that thing she does… It's competitive, nothing more. It can’t be, right?
She softens her voice when she speaks to the girl, in a way Orville has never seen her do before - he’d almost mistake it for kindness if he didn’t know her so well. What are you doing with her, Vox? “Voltaea, my sweet, stay here a moment while I fetch us something to drink.” He has to stifle the grimace that forms when the girl flushes and squirms in her seat at the mention of her name. Don’t. Say. Anything. You don’t know what’s going on.
Coulomb is contently digging back into the torte, pacified for a moment by his mentor’s seeming ignorance to his presence. At least you’ll be safe, my young friend. From her, anyway. He glances back to Claudius who is staring daggers at Alara as she glides her way over to the bar counter. Orville lets his own gaze follow her - she’s mulling over a selection of fruit wines. “Oh Orville, you know I’m not a drinker.” “Yes, of course Ms. Vox, I know you never indulge in such things apart from special occasions.” Liar. He bites back a chuckle at his imagined victory. Alara grabs a pomegranate-and-apple vintage he knows well, then begins to pour not one but two glasses of the stuff. Wait a second.
“Ah. Alara, if I could interject for a moment.” Stupid, stupid, stupid. He chides himself for his impulsiveness before he’s even brought the matter up. Claudius looks over at him with something like a warning in his eyes.
“It seems like you’re going to anyway, you may as well speak.” She turns to him, leaving the two overfilled glasses on the bartop for the moment. Her arms are crossed and she’s tapping her hand with the tremor against her robe with that look of impatience she gets that makes him flinch.
“Isn’t. Well. Hm.” He feels the words stopping themselves in his throat - trying to save him from the verbal lashing he’s about to receive for his insolence.
“Spit. It. Out.” Alara’s jaded stare bores into him as she speaks through her teeth.
Orville clears his throat. “I only meant to point out that the laws surrounding alcohol consumption in the Capitol dictate the appropriate age for such things is eighteen…”
She pauses for a moment. He braces for impact. Then, she laughs - a full-throated cackle like he’s never heard from her before. What? “Oh Orville, don’t you think we can overlook such formalities? Given the circumstances, I mean.” she turns back towards the wine, fumbling with something in the pocket of her robe. “Afterall, this young woman is about to risk her life in front of the entire nation. Surely that qualifies as an exception?”
If only I thought your intentions were so pure… He has to stifle the gnawing little voice at the back of his mind that keeps planting such terrible ideas. “Of course, my apologies, I didn’t mean to overstep.”
Alara fiddles with the wine glasses for a moment on the counter - he doesn’t have a good angle on what’s happening. She waves her clawed hand dismissively at him over her shoulder “Not to worry, darling, we all have our days.” Your understanding is beginning to concern me… She grabs both glasses, doing her very best not to spill any of the contents that she’s poured far too much of, and makes her way back to the far booth with the Volts girl - staring at Alara like no one else exists. Has she taken her eyes off of that woman at all?
She places the glasses on their table, then slides into the same side of the booth her tribute is sitting in and wraps her arm right back over the girl’s shoulder. She whispers something in her ear then - Orville doesn’t catch what it is - only the visceral look of something between fear and longing that crosses the girl’s face in response. He sees her shake her head, saying no to a question he can’t begin to guess at. I truly hope you both know what you’re doing. For all of our sakes.
He turns back toward Claudius again, hoping the handsome statue of a man will be less unsettling to look at than whatever is happening in the booth behind him. There’s a distinct grimace of concern on his face - he gestures something to Orville and he shrugs back at him with a shake of his head. Not quite understood, my dear friend, try another way perhaps?
His next signals are clearer. A “V” formed with his hands - their sign for Alara Vox. Then he plugs one nostril and holds the other hand to his face - their sign for drugs, usually used to warn the other of her impending benders - this time for something else . Then he walks over to the bar counter and casually picks up a wine glass, sparing a glance to the back to make sure Alara hasn’t looked up. She seems very preoccupied with her new toy at the moment. He pantomimes uncorking something in his hands and tapping the side of the wine glass. Orville feels his eyes widen, his face drop. She’s drugged the wine. She’s drugged the fucking wine, what is she doing?
Orville mouths his suspicion to the handsome avox host who gives him a grim nod in confirmation. This is going to be very bad. The boy has to stay far away from whatever this is, I’ll make sure of that. As for that girl... He spares a last glance behind him - they’re whispering about something in the booth back there. Don’t take that, please just ask for a juice or something, please, I really can’t help you if you don’t listen.
It’s not like she can hear his thoughts.
The girl raises the glass to her lips and drinks. I’m so sorry for whatever she’s about to do to you.