Chapter Text
Disarray - Alara:
Alara Vox stalks through the rose-scented hallways of the tribute train towards her sleeper car - a woman on a mission. She’d been rudely roused from her work in the dining room by an alert about a phone call over the intercom. Selica’s never been one to take a hint. Or a hang-up. She had told Voltaea she would be back in an hour and to stay put, though she didn’t think that last instruction was entirely necessary given the absolute state of the poor thing before she left her. Just a little something to ease the nerves.
She’d left her space in absolute disarray before she met back up with her victor - but the cleaning crews had reordered everything into neat little piles in the time she was away. The phone receiver is neatly back on the hook next to her daybed, so she slumps down onto it and picks it up. “Selica, darling, not that I don’t enjoy your company - but I thought I told you to pack it in for the year? I’m busy training a future victor - I don’t have time for a chat at the moment” And not all of us have whole teams of other mentors to pawn our jobs off on, you Career-district twat.
The laughter she hears does not belong to Selica Vireaux at all. It’s a man’s laugh - deep, haunted, calculating. She recognizes the voice on the line immediately as President Snow himself. “You haven’t lost your edge, have you?” She feels ice-cold fear pour down her spine and pool around her gut. “You just hide it better now.” What does he want?
“Mr. President, what an unexpected surprise, I -” she’s cut off from speaking almost as quickly as she starts.
“No need for formalities, this will be a quick call.” She shifts uncomfortably as he speaks, eyeing the drugs spread neatly across her coffee table longingly. Gods above, did the cleaners alphabetize them? “You recall why I first asked you to come and stay in the Capitol, correct?”
“Of course” It was the easiest deal of her life - never having to return to the cesspit of District Five and the people there who hated her, and in return, she would be in charge of bringing Ismene Lux onboard to the Crimson Cut.
“This will have been cut from the broadcast by the time you see it, but there’s been… a public incident at the District Eight Reaping ceremony.” She can practically taste the blood in his breath through the receiver. “A set of fraternal twins were chosen this year - very popular locally, it seems.” Oh, Ismene is going to love the tragedy of it all. “It went over poorly with the public.”
She mulls his words over for a moment “Shall I work over our mistress of melancholia once again to sway the narrative, or did you have something else in mind?” She’s trying to keep her trademark snark in her tone but her voice wavers - she digs her still-sharpened nails into her thigh.
“No, I think Miss Lux will fall in line with whatever narrative ends up benefitting her position.” Alara has to stifle a laugh. I’m not the only one who sees through the act.
“Tell me how I can help, then.” She feels her teeth itch with impatience, but keeps her voice cool to match his own.
He pauses leaving the static on the line to linger between them for a moment too long for comfort. “You left the train today, you must think you have a contender on your hands.”
Shitfuckshitfuckshit. He saw that. FUCK! He knows about her - no use playing coy now, Alara. Find out what he wants. “I do, sir.” Too formal, he’ll smell your fear. “You know I have an eye for greatness - I’m confident I’ve found it in Voltaea this year.” she can taste copper on her tongue again.
“Good. Does she listen to you?” she digs her nails in deeper, something about his tone makes her gut churn. He’s plotting. I hate when he’s plotting.
She hesitates before she speaks again. I never wanted him to see you this soon, darling, but it seems like we’ll have to play the game. “She listens enough to learn.”
“Then you’ll have no issues getting her to take care of the twins before they become… symbolic.” There it is... not the worst thing he’s ever asked of me, thank the Gods.
“Of course. I’ll make sure to… emphasise the danger of such a strong bond in her opponents. She’ll put it together.”
“Make sure she does. I’ll be watching.” the line clicks dead before she has a chance to think of a response.
Alara sits there, sprawled across the daybed with the dead receiver in her hand, having one of those rare moments where she’s at a loss for words. She takes a glass vial out of her coat pocket - it’s the same stuff she had put into her girl’s drink earlier to calm her nerves a bit. Calm and euphoria in a bottle - not as strong as the pills she took earlier to counter the stims - just enough to take the edge off.
She doesn’t bother putting it into a drink, just pours a small amount onto her palm and then tips it into her mouth - letting the burning, chemical sensation of the substance sink beneath her tongue. It only takes a minute or so to start its work - the Capitol folk do love their instant gratification.
Alara takes a plush pillow from the bed and cradles it under her neck, leaning into the floating sensation the drugs are creating. Calm . She lets the sensation wrap around her and carry her away from her thoughts for what she thinks is several minutes, closing her eyes and relishing the silence. Collected. She refuses to let herself fall asleep, instead digging her nails into her thigh once more and pulling herself back to consciousness. Controlled. Ah. That’s much better.
Now, what was I doing? She’s dialing a number into the phone before she has a chance to think about it. Selica Vireaux’s capitol-caged accent chimes through the speakers. “There’s only three people who call my private line on Reaping Day, which one are you?”
“Hello my love, this is Caesar Flickerman calling to follow up on our absolutely salacious evening last month, perhaps you’re ready for another?” She puts forth her very best attempt at mimicking the obnoxious tone the man takes in interviews every year but she’s giggling too much to pull it off.
“Alara dear! I’m so glad you called back. Although I thought I told you never to mention the Flickerman incident again under penalty of death?”
“Selica, darling, I’m a terrible listener; you know that as well as anyone.” Alara twirls a crimson curl around one of her declawed fingers as she speaks – it keeps her from tapping or digging her nails.
“Better, I’d bet.” Selica mumbles when she says it. True. “I thought you were busy with your shiny new favorite – what happened, hm? Bored already?”
“No, nothing like that. She’s absolutely perfect – I couldn’t be more thrilled.” Alara drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper – every performative pretense dropping at once. “This isn’t about my future victory tour. It’s about the call I just received from the fucking President of Panem – did you get one as well?”
“Hang on a moment, dear.” She can hear Selica putting the receiver down and yelling for several of her staff members to leave her alone at once. After what seems like an eternity, she hears Selica speak again. She’s dropped the accent. Funny how that works when there isn’t an audience to play for. “I received no such calls. What did he want?”
“He’s specifically requested my tribute kill the twins that Our Princess of Self-Pity will be mentoring this year. Rebel tendencies - he wants to guarantee their early death.” She can’t help but squeeze in the jab at Ismene - though she hears the sigh she gets from Selica and almost regrets it. Almost.
“I wish you’d be just a touch nicer to her. Our jobs would be far easier if you weren’t so insistent with your needling - Half of her on-air breakdowns during last year’s games were on your hands .” She hears Selica light a cigarette. She must be stressed about this if she’s smoking again. “Strange that he’d ask you over me, though. I might be offended if I weren’t such a good sportswoman.”
“Not strange if you think about it. Your careers are one and the same as the Capitol as far as the outer districts are concerned. Five has a bit more distance, anyways - plausible deniability. ” Alara drops her voice in a poor impersonation of Snow for her last words - it was something he’d said to the two of them on several occasions when making these sorts of secret requests. He’s always looking to skirt the blame, isn’t he?
She hears Selica take a long drag of her cigarette, and cough before responding. “He saw you get off the train, then?”
“And?” Alara’s tone sharpens slightly, not entirely certain of what her sister-in-sin is implying.
“So either he trusts your instincts or knows you're…” There’s a pause while Selica mulls her words. “...personally invested in this girl of yours.”
She's right. I hate when she’s right, ugh, one point to Selica. “I would imagine it’s a bit of column A and column B.”
“Can I ask why you’re so intrigued with this one, or would that be a violation of your grand design ?” Selica’s voice drips slightly with sarcasm, but the question is earnest.
I’d rather you didn’t. I’d rather not think about it myself. Alara answers anyways - she can’t help it with Selica. She’s the only person alive who’s seen her at her worst and stuck by her. “I see myself in her… not me now, mind, more so like me back then . She’s already half-dead inside but still has that drive to survive - you know the one.” She rummages around in the snack box she keeps next to the bed while she speaks but doesn’t find anything that appeals in the moment. “I mean, Gods, Selica, you should have seen how her mother treated her during their last goodbyes. Like ice, that woman - not a single care that her eldest was off to the arena.”
“Is this coldness common with the mothers in District Five or did you two just pull the unlucky cards?” Selica’s voice is teasing but her words cut too deeply.
“Don’t talk about my mother you -” Alara is cut off by Selica’s immediate recanting.
“Sorry! I am sorry, really, Alara dear. That was tasteless. Blame the wine, I’ve had too much today." She hears Selica putting out her cigarette after a particularly terrible coughing fit before she speaks again. “Look, it’s awful that he’s put you on the spot like this - and your girl. But we all do what we have to do to keep the world moving. Do what he asks. Don’t hesitate. Not if you value your life - or hers.”
“Trust me, darling, I’m plotting the deaths of those rabble-rousing little shits as we speak.” Alara pushes away any doubts she has and tastes the thrill of victory on her tongue again. Two out of twenty-three that we won’t have to worry about contending with you, my little spark.
“Oh good, I was beginning to think you’d gone soft on me after all this time!” They both laugh. We both know better than that.
It’s then that Alara hears a distinctively patterned knock at her door. Has the avox come with dinner already? What time is it? She glances out the window - it’s evening now, far later than she had intended. I must have dozed off earlier. Sorry, darling, I’ll be there soon.
“Selica, I have to go - though I assure you this time it’s not just me being cheeky. Duty, you know, all that.”
“I heard the knock, good luck with Snow. I’ll see you tomorrow when we arrive - don’t hesitate to stop by our suite! I would so love to show you Cymbria, she’s really turned out to be quite -”
She hangs up the receiver before Selica can finish bragging about her tribute. Well, there’s one point to me, at least.
Alara pries herself from her daybed, still slightly spongy-feeling from the drugs she took earlier, and puts on her best look of disgust and anger before marching to the door. She opens it, ready to lecture the silent creature with the stupid knock before she sees him standing there with Voltaea wrapped around him like she's clinging to a liferaft. I perhaps overestimated your tolerance, darling, you look absolutely wrecked.
She can’t help looking amused at her future victor dangling off the avox like that - she’s positively unstable. She does, however, shoot him a glare that tells him this sort of closeness will not be tolerated in the future. “Voltaea, darling, I thought I told you to wait for me in the dining car?” Her voice is soft, teasing when she speaks to the girl. She grants the avox the same tone she does to Orville when he’s being particularly dense . “You’ve done enough. Leave her with me - you can go back to whatever corner you’re assigned to brood in today.”
Alara wraps her arm around Voltaea to steady her - she’s wobbling like a newborn deer and practically faceplants into Alara’s shoulder. “I forgot… sorry.” She tries to hide her face in the silk of Alara’s robe.
“I also told you to stop apologizing - perhaps the wine affected you more than I thought, hm?” Alara lets a note of humor drip into her voice. She leads her girl into the sleeper car, shutting the door behind them and leaving Orville’s avox to whatever it is that he does around here.
Alara sprawls the poor, intoxicated thing out on her daybed, propping her head semi-upright with a plush pillow. She hears Voltaea audibly sigh with relief as she relaxes into the pillow. Make yourself comfortable. We’re going to sharpen that edge of yours tonight.
She sits herself on the opposite side of the daybed, lifting Voltaea’s legs to make room for herself and letting them drop gently in her lap. When Alara looks over, she realizes her girl is already halfway between consciousness and sleep. You sleep around me like you’re not broken. It’s almost a shame I have to change that. Alara beats back the sentimental taste rising in her throat. We have a game to win.
She leans over Voltaea to whisper directly into her ear - an attempt to seduce her to alertness. “Open your eyes, darling - we have so much to do before we reach the Capitol.” The response is immediately satisfying - Voltaea jolts awake, beet-red and blinking furiously like it’ll somehow scare her exhaustion away.
When she speaks her words are still slurred with sleep and spiked wine. “Like what?”
“Well…” Alara leans back slightly, cupping Voltaea’s chin with her clawed hand to coax her to look into her eyes. You look about a million miles away, darling. “To start - why don’t you tell me what was in those notes of yours?” She releases her chin and rests her hands on her girl’s legs.
She can feel the tension that shoots through Voltaea’s body immediately. Are you going to go into rigor mortis every time I ask you a technical question? She runs her fingernails down the girl’s calf and she nearly shoots off of the bed trying to move away. Not quite what I intended.
Voltaea’s face has started pouring sweat, she’s nearly shaking. “Please. I don’t….” she cuts herself off.
“You don’t, what, darling, finish a sentence?” Alara realizes immediately that she failed to keep the note of sharpness from her voice when the girl practically recoils from her - she almost looks like she’s going to cry.
Then, her girl breaks - spectacularly - she starts practically yelling her words in reply. “I just don’t understand what’s happening today! Everything was supposed to go the way I planned it - I had EVERY PIECE worked out! ALL OF THEM! I get reaped, I say nothing - give them no feeling, I give my sister a hug and I tell her she’s going to be fine without me - then I get on the train and I go off to fight and probably die. No part of my plan involved any of this - none of my notes accounted for this - I …. I … ” Voltaea presses her face into the pillow and screams atonally. Alara can’t help but smile. The drugs certainly haven’t taken the fight out of you, have they?
She gives Voltaea a minute to wear herself out - she’s shaking the whole time she screams into the pillow - it doesn’t take long before she's hoarse, limp, and half-sobbing. Alara wraps her hand with the nails around the back of Voltaea’s head and begins running them along her scalp again. She bristles at first, then relaxes into the sensation with a soft gasp. Alara whispers, leaning closer as she speaks “Are you finished, darling?”
Her girl doesn’t speak, just nods defeatedly and continues burying her face into the pillow. Alara can hear the sobs now despite her best efforts to mask them. She doesn’t say anything for a while - she isn’t really sure what to say, in this instance. I do wish you’d stop crying so we could speak like adults.
The scent of fear - sweat, salt, something sickly - has overtaken the artificial rose in the air. Alara contemplates digging into her stims again if only to burn a different sensation into her nose. It’s not time for that yet. The sobs seem to be slowing into a more controlled rhythm - she hasn’t stopped scratching lightly at Voltaea’s scalp. Eventually, she speaks - it's soft and still slightly choked with tears. “I don’t know what just happened.” Voltaea looks up at her from the pillow - eyes red, tear-streaked, and desperate for answers. You look disastrous.
Alara considers her next words carefully - Wouldn’t do to drive you to tears again. “Nobody can plan for how they’ll actually feel on their Reaping Day. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up your notes so soon. It’s clear you aren’t ready for that sort of -”
“No! I mean. I can talk about the notes it's just. I. Everything else. Why? Shit - ” Alara watches as Voltaea closes her eyes, takes an enormous breath, and digs her nails into her scarred palm. She doesn’t interfere - this time. I’d like to see your technique up close. After a few deep breaths, her girl opens her eyes again. “- Okay. I have to say something.”
“I’m all ears, darling.” She stops scratching for a moment, letting her hand rest on Voltaea’s head in an attempted gesture of calm. Her girl stays balled up in the corner of the daybed huddling the pillow, staring at her with half-teary eyes.
Voltaea’s voice drops to a whisper, “I thought you were going to be awful, and now my whole plan is thrown off.”
Alara feels her breath catch - Oh? She studies the younger woman’s face for a moment, searching for anything that seems vaguely like insincerity - but finds nothing. The poor thing earnestly means what she’s saying to her. She feels her gut churn with an unfamiliar feeling. Something like… discomfort with her actions thus far. Oh stop, you’re not one to sit around feeling guilty.
Alara ignores her own internal coaching. Her response to her girl is hushed - she doesn’t think about the words much, if she did she might realize she’s betraying herself a bit. “I don’t think you know me well enough to be making those kinds of character judgements, darling.”
Voltaea gives her a strange, furrowed, confused look - like she can’t fathom there’s any other way to see Alara than as whatever image she has built up in her head. She looks at her like she wants to speak, but has to break eye contact before her words will come out properly - looking off into the distance at a sculpted bust Alara keeps in the corner of the sleeper car. She still can't muster more than a whisper. “You’re the only person besides Ohma who’s ever hugged me, at least that I can remember. I’ve been so alone for so long. Even when everyone is around, they don’t really see me. And then there you are - telling me you think I can win - nobody else has ever had that kind of confidence. If anything - you don’t know me well enough to say that. But I think you do it because you’re… good… to me, anyway.” Gods above, you truly have no idea. Absolutely clueless. And yet… endearing?
Alara shifts a hand to the younger woman’s cheek and tilts it gently towards her - no force this time, just to coax her back into the moment. You beautiful, tragic thing. Voltaea’s blue-grey eyes are bloodshot and glassy from crying still - her hair has half-collapsed out of that aggressively tight bun she keeps it in and is stuck haphazardly to the sweat on her face. She brushes it back and the girl flushes in response. There, there. You’ll figure it out soon enough. Alara’s next words are a promise, she’s dropped the performative tone from her voice entirely. “Voltaea. I will never allow you to feel alone again.”
Voltaea looks for a second like she might start sobbing again when the words hit her. Instead, she sits bolt upright and flings her arms around Alara’s neck - pulling her into a tight embrace. You really do crave that softer touch, don’t you? She returns it, wrapping her own arms around her girl’s midsection and pulling her into her lap. They both shift uncomfortably for a moment trying to accommodate Voltaea’s height, but she eventually straddles her legs over Alara’s and settles in, burying her face in her neck in such a way that Alara can feel every quickening breath from her lips.
Alara for the first time is very aware of how tight her girl’s core muscles are - Practically steel, Gods! She absentmindedly runs her hands over Voltaea’s back and sides drinking in every inch of her. She feels an all-too-familiar heat blooming somewhere low and deep within her - her heartbeat rises like she’s just dosed herself - she can taste copper on her tongue again. You really are perfect, aren’t you? She studies her girl for a moment, looking for signs of a response as she feels her own face start to flush. I wonder if you feel that same heat when you look at me?
You can’t let her win so easily, she’ll never learn that way. The sensible side of her pipes up to intervene in her fit of emotion. Alara feels the younger woman fidgeting in her lap - and grins as she realizes exactly how she can test for a reaction from this position. She shifts her left leg slightly - a subtle move - but one that lets her thigh press directly into Voltaea’s center. The gasping moan is instantaneous and her girl whips her head back away from her neck with a look of scandalized surprise on her face - it fades to something halfway between confusion and yearning. She doesn’t move away. Delicious, thank you darling.
The two lock eyes for a moment but Alara notices the younger woman’s gaze slip down to her lips and linger there. Has no one ever taught you subtlety? They don’t move, Alara keeps her hands cradled deliberately around Voltaea’s hips. She can see her chest rise and fall rapidly - almost panicked - like a rat in a trap. Practically every visible inch of her pale skin has taken on a flushed tone. The poor thing is slick with sweat and smells faintly of need now instead of fear. Alara calms her own breathing - but she can feel the mask of composure slipping from her face as she tries to fight the smirk creeping into the corner of her lips. It has to be your choice, darling.
Voltaea blinks, shudders, and shifts herself slightly. Her nails dig lightly into the back of Alara’s neck - like she’s grasping for that gorgeous scar - clinging to some kind of control she can’t quite reach. She can't stifle the small gasp at the contact. That’s fine darling, I don’t mind at all, take all the time you need. Voltaea finally speaks, half breathless. It’s not what Alara expected. “The first notes I took were on past victors - I figured if I was going to live, the best way to learn would be from the people who did it before me…”