Chapter Text
Strategy: Alara
Alara Vox hadn’t meant to be quite so harsh on her girl. Something about the way she held that knife like a scared child instead of the fighter she knew she could be - it set her teeth on edge. Or maybe it was just all the fucking questions - too smart for her own good. Alara hadn’t wanted to tell her everything this quickly - or perhaps ever. That slack-jawed glazed-eyed look Voltaea had given her, the clumsy attempt at cutting her pizza, her inability to string three words together - I haven’t had a dose in hours. No, it was Voltaea who brought it on herself - she had raised her voice first. She needed a little harshness to drive home that such things were not to be tolerated.
She realized she had gone too far when the poor thing started clawing at herself again - she’d slammed her eyes shut like that would somehow stop the noise. When she’d realized the state of her girl - she felt it in her gut - something churning, cloying, crippling that made her slow her tirade and release Voltaea’s wrist. You’re doing this to help her survive - this guilt is unbecoming. She ignores herself. Speaks to her victor instead. “Voltaea!” Her voice is loud, but she’s tempered the earlier harshness. Only for you, darling.
Her girl opens her eyes to look at her - but she can see the distance behind them. The poor thing is stiff as a board and half-falling out of the already too short robe - a magnificent sort of mess - but one she knows she’ll have to clean up before the cameras start rolling. Not that I wouldn’t mind keeping you like this, but we have a game to win.
She readies herself to be the bigger person - her future victor has clearly learned her lesson judging by the dissociated dread on her face. Alara opts to break one of her own cardinal rules - and apologizes, as earnestly as she can - tells her girl she’s under-medicated. Voltaea looks… unreadable. Alara doesn’t know how to approach unreadable . She feels her own pulse racing - her tremor rising. Don’t you dare fuck this up - I can’t lose again - I need to think!
She sees the box of drugs at the end of her table and grabs it without a word. I don’t just need to think, I need to win. She pulls out a vial with her shorter-acting stimulants. It’s too easy to overdo it with the longer ones, and she can’t afford to break in front of her. She just needs to take the edge off - shepherd her thoughts into order. She pulls out her tray and cuts herself a thick line of the stuff.
“What is that?” Voltaea’s voice pulls her out of her haze for a moment. You’ve been so quiet that I thought I’d lost you, darling. She has to consider what to say for a moment - It wouldn’t do to scare her off of how useful stims can be to minds as sharp as theirs are.
“If what I gave you is clarity , then this is power . Lightning in a vial.” The wide-eyed look of naive curiosity on her girl when she speaks - the small flush she gets in her cheeks - the half-off robe dripping off of her shoulders - it drives her wild. She forces her mind back to the task at hand.
Alara arranges her tray carefully among the plates on the table, and snorts the entirety of the contents in one go. The response is almost instantaneous - it’s like every nerve in her body springs to life - every train of thought converges into one - every color is brighter, every feeling stronger - she savours the chemical taste and copper tang from burst capillaries that runs down the back of her throat.
She laughs - she can’t help it - it’s too much of a fucking relief from her earlier state. The room is chaos - food everywhere - clothes thrown in the corner - and Voltaea, still half-dressed but now looking almost concerned for her. Oh, you poor girl, you haven’t eaten a thing!
Alara tells her girl she needs to eat before they arrive - and she does - she has that slightly-starved gauntness that she recognizes from her own reflection long ago. She’s already slicing the remains of her dinner before the girl has a chance to protest - she pops a bite on the end of the fork and holds it up for Voltaea to eat. “Here, try it properly now.”
Voltaea’s face lights up like the Capitol skyline on parade night as soon as she tastes the food. Get used to it darling, there’ll be so much more where this came from after we win. Parade night! She’d nearly forgotten - what time is it anyways ? She’s rambling, she can tell, her mouth is moving as fast as her mind - Voltaea nodding along like she’s hanging on every word. Her girl asks one of those incredibly naive questions she likes to pose to Alara - it sends her off on another train of thought.
Voltaea looks positively disheveled - she clasps her robe back shut across her chest with a look of embarrassment when Alara mentions the state of her - but her hair has come almost entirely out of the bun she keeps it in, she’s drenched in sweat, and her eyes are still puffy from her emotional outbursts. You’ve never been more beautiful to me, darling, but the public won’t see it the same way. She tells her girl she wants them all to see her the way she does.
“What do you see?” Hm? Voltaea hasn’t spoken up in a while - or maybe she has - Alara’s never been a great listener by her own admission. She smiles - stands up - this is one of those questions that requires an impactful answer. Theatrical, even.
Voltaea is doing everything she can to avoid eye contact as Alara shifts in front of her - she keeps her gaze firmly centered on the coffee table. Come now, we’re past all that, aren’t we? She gently tips her face upward with her filed-down fingertips - she can feel the heat rush back into her girl’s cheeks at the contact. Good, I haven’t ruined you then.
She leans down and watches her girl’s lips part almost expectantly - Delightful. She brushes past her to lean into Voltaea’s ear - she can practically taste the thundering pulse in her girl’s throat - and lets the most salacious whisper fall from her lips. You want to know what I see? “Perfection.”
That tiny, shattered gasp her girl lets out in response tells Alara everything. She lingers there, breathing just firmly enough that she can see the shudder running down Voltaea’s spine each time she does it. Her girl tilts her head to look at her after a few moments, waiting, calculating - Her lips still softly parted, trembling - Her eyes scan every inch of Alara’s face, like she hopes to find a similar expression waiting for her there - Alara pulls back - You’re going to have to want it enough to take it, darling.
Alara snaps her fingers, her girl blinks away the strained desire in her eyes to focus on the sound. “Now, the train’s wardrobe team should have at least something acceptable to wear in your size - not in your car, mind you, I’ve already checked - they’ll have it hidden around in storage somewhere - I’ll ring Orville, he has a… marginally better eye for that sort of thing than the useless twits who tried to dress me earlier.”
Voltaea digs her nails into her scar again - before Alara can stop it, then releases just as quickly. She nods. “Alright. What else should I know?”
“Hang on, darling, I’ll make the call first.” She glides to the intercom - pressing a few extra buttons to dial directly to the one in Orville’s own sleeper car. “Orville! If you’re asleep it’s time to stop slacking - I need a full outfit for Voltaea - something with flair - and pants! No dresses, no frills, and under no circumstances bring me anything with pink in it!”
The room falls silent for a moment before the intercom buzzes to life again. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes sharp, ma’ - Alara. I have ideas, but they’ll have to be pulled from storage.”
Alara, satisfied with the timeline, spins around to speak to her girl again. She claps her hands together to gather Voltaea’s attention, and points to the food on the table once more. Her next words are a command, not a question. “Now darling, you’re going to eat - and you’re going to listen. I’ll teach you everything I know about playing to the cameras. If you want sponsors - and trust me, you will need them - I have to make you into something marketable.”
Voltaea nods, takes a deep breath, and manages to speak in her still-flustered state. “I… can I take notes?”
“Of course! Here - I must have something to write with -” Alara nearly sprints to the desk at the far corner of the room - the stims have her riding a razor's edge - and pulls the top drawer open to produce a pad of stationery and a customized pen. It’s one of her favorites - blood–red ink - she keeps them for autographs. The Capitol fangirls she’s acquired over the years go absolutely wild for them. She tosses the both of them to Voltaea, who manages to catch the pad of paper but drops the pen. “You’ll have to be quicker than that, my sweet!” She keeps her voice light, teasing, even tosses her a wink at the end. Voltaea turns scarlet again. I do love to see that.
Alara stays standing this time - Wouldn’t want to distract you again. Voltaea has armed herself with the pen and stationery - her brows are furrowed like she’s in deep thought. Gods - you have no right to look so adorable in my presence. She strings herself back into focus. Admire her later - it’s time to play the mentor. “Your first big lesson was to never apologize. Keep that close - it’s the best thing you can do for your image.”
“What’s my image, exactly?” She watches her girl scrawl the word image across the page as she speaks.
“Voltaea, my sweet, your second lesson is not to rush me. I thrive on theatrics! Perhaps make a note to embrace that too - drama sells sponsorships.” Alara’s voice is sharp, tactical - Voltaea seems to respond with renewed focus, furiously scribbling notes onto the stationery. “Now, the Capitol always likes tributes that are neat - easy to categorize - but it LOVES when you break the mold just enough to spice things up.”
Alara glides over to the television - flipping it on and plugging in a few cords to the side. Voltaea makes a noise like she’s about to speak again and Alara holds up a single, clawed finger to silence her. “Be patient, you’ll see what I’m talking about.” She grabs a remote from the top of the set. “I have Orville record every district’s Reaping Ceremony - We’ll start with yours, that’ll be about all we have time for before Orville shows up with your wardrobe.”
She hits play - skipping from scene to scene until the familiar, choking smog of District Five is visible overhead in the background - Orville in his hideous powder-blue suit standing on the stage. She glances at Voltaea - she’s balanced the pad of paper on her knees so she can dig her nails into her scar again and still write with her stronger hand. Her eyes stay locked - focused on the screen. Good girl, you just make sure you see all of this.
Alara lets the segment play in full - Orville’s embarrassing attempt at Voltaea’s name, her steely-eyed walk to the stage, her sister sobbing in the audience while she stares straight ahead - unflinching, unwavering. She barely spares a second glance at Coulomb when he’s called up - she’s like a statue made flesh. Not a single hair out of place, not a tremor, barely even a blink. She pauses the video on a close-up of Voltaea’s face.
“There. That’s what I want to capture - you’re going to play the stoic, stone-faced survivor - we’ll highlight your scar, your fall, your absent family - ” Voltaea flinches at the mention of her family, but keeps scribbling - flipping to a new page as she fills the first. “You’ll play up that you’ve hardened yourself through it all - you’ve suffered more than most your age and nothing has fazed you. The games are just another challenge that you’ll overcome - another victory in your belt. Never entertain the idea that you might fail - they’ll eat it up.”
“Alright, but isn’t that just putting me into a box? Where’s the angle? You said we needed one for them to really take to me.” Voltaea’s voice has taken on the same tone from earlier - the cold, calculating tone she uses when her brilliance is in full swing. I do love that you catch on so quickly.
“Oh that's easy, darling. Unpredictability. They’ll expect you to always keep a clear head - don’t. Find your moment and do something truly unexpected.” Alara smirks, an itch of excitement crawls up her spine and she can’t tell if it’s the stims or the stimulating conversation. “I spit in an interviewer’s face after an entire day of being a perfect, smiling specimen of complacency when I first arrived in the Capitol - it made the highlight reels for a full three nights - practically an eternity during Hunger Games season. You can do better, I’m sure. I didn’t have half the mentor you do, you know, and -”
They’re interrupted by Orville’s knocking and his muffled voice at the door. “Pardon the interruption, but I’ve brought the clothes you’ve requested.”
Alara swears under her breath and stalks to the door and opens it. The boy looks positively exhausted - he’s wearing a pair of powder-blue velvet pajama pants and a matching top like he just rolled out of bed. “Orville you’re an absolute mess, I hope you’ve brought us something less awful to look at.”
He wisely chooses to ignore her barb and wheels a rack of clothes into the room - turning his attention to the wall behind Voltaea so as not to look either of them in the eyes while he presents his findings. “There’s a few looks I found that might fit the bill -”
He goes through the rack while Alara rejects nearly every option - hideous, fashion crime, too revealing, not revealing enough, that one looks almost pink - until he pulls out a sleek, black, vinyl bodysuit with silver clasps that look like daggers and chrome-colored geometric patterns accenting the whole piece. “That’s the one!” Alara claps her hands excitedly “Voltaea, darling, you’ll have them terrified AND tantalized before we even meet a stylist.”
“I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t point out that a well-crafted ensemble like this is bound to attract the attention of her competitors as well as the cameras. Most of the outer districts don’t even bother to change their tributes out of their Reaping clothes.” Orville shifts like he’s stepped in shit and is trying to wipe it off his shoes before anyone notices the smell. Alara rolls her eyes - All nerves, that one.
“That’s half the point - let them all see how lethal she looks and maybe we’ll have an alliance offer or two. Or, we’ll find an easy rivalry to sell to the sponsors - either way, it’s a win for our image.” Alara glances at Voltaea and gives her another wink - she averts her eyes back to her notes before the blush can fully creep into her cheeks. This might be my new favorite trick.
“Of course. I shouldn’t have questioned.” Orville gives a small, performative bow to the room. “If there’s nothing else then…”
Alara motions him off without another word. Voltaea gives him a quick wave as he exits the room, shutting the door behind him. “Alright darling, you get dressed - I’ll find myself something in the closet.” She spins on her heels and heads for the closet door - it’s not a full walk-in as she had requested, but they’ve at least made use of the space with some creative, rotating clothing racks.
She spins through several sections that disinterest her immediately - another blazer so soon would be tacky - a full gown too formal - perhaps a cocktail dress? She’s flipping through a selection of crimson-colored ones when she hears Voltaea’s panicked voice behind her “Um. Alara… I have no idea how to put this on - I think I’m stuck - can you help?”
Alara looks around to find her girl in a very compromised position . She’s shed the robe and attempted to work her way into the bodysuit, but the entire thing is backwards - clasps undone everywhere - the main zipper on what is supposed to be the back is hitched to the center of her bra. She can’t even imagine how Voltaea managed such a feat - It’s honestly an impressive level of failure, darling, and you look great doing it .
Her girl looks absolutely mortified - she covers her face when she sees Alara looking at her. “Oh come now, there’s no need for such melodrama - It’s nothing I haven’t seen before” Voltaea buries herself deeper in her hands as if Alara can’t see straight through her. She gives her girl a teasing giggle - “Though whatever it is you’ve done to entangle yourself in this outfit is entirely new to me darling.”
Alara closes the gap between them, resting a hand on Voltaea’s shoulder. “You’re going to have to undress again, you’ve got it completely backwards - here -” She squats down to start undoing some of the clasps on the legs that Voltaea had already attempted to fasten “You take the top, I’ll start from the legs.” her girl doesn’t move. “Voltaea, my sweet, you have to uncover your face and do some of the work or I can’t help you -”
Voltaea relaxes, slightly, at the sound of her name. She finally lowers her hands and attempts to untangle the zipper from her bra. Alara continues her work on the clasps - she takes her time, trailing her fingers between each one as she works her way up. She can hear her future victor’s breath run ragged as she works - her efforts are clearly having the intended effect.
She undoes the last clasp and stands up fully - Voltaea is still struggling with the zipper. “Just let go, darling, I’ll fix you up.” Alara reaches up and deftly unhooks it from her bra with one hand “Alright, now unzip and step out, we’ll get this turned around for you.”
Voltaea’s hands are shaking nearly as much as Alara’s now - she flinches at her words. “I think. Um.” She pauses, considering. “Can you step back? I can’t think with you this close…” Really? You don’t say.
Alara bites back the triumphant smirk forming on her lips - drops her voice to a calculated purr - tries to look as clueless as she can muster as she continues fiddling with her girl’s outfit. “Oh? Why’s that?”
Voltaea’s turned that lovely shade of scarlet again - she shuts her eyes - starts to dig her nails into her scar. Alara grabs her wrist before she can get too far. “Voltaea, if you can’t answer simple questions from me, how will you ever handle a real interview? Consider this part of your training.”
“I’m really not used to this… exposure.” Voltaea opens her eyes to meet Alara’s. Her voice drops to a shaky whisper. “I don’t understand what I’m feeling - any of it - I just know that when you’re too close I can’t think. Can we leave it there?”
Alara places a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll give you a reprieve - for now.” She releases her and steps back a few feet so her girl has room to strip the rest of the outfit away without the proximity. It takes her a few minutes - The poor thing is still a flushed, shivering mess - but she manages to undo the rest of the getup and strip down to her undergarments without further interference.
Alara takes a tentative step back in her direction, her voice tinged with sarcasm - “May I assist now, or are you still unable to think in my presence?” Her girl nods - she doesn’t have much choice if she wants to have anything to wear. The bodysuit is tangled in a heap in the ground in front of her. Alara takes a moment to admire the view. She’d seen Voltaea from the back earlier, but now she can see nearly all of her and she's glorious.
She immediately notices her girl's tight core muscles - probably from all those years of climbing towers . Nothing like the bulky, well-fed careers have - Voltaea is still rather thin - but she manages to look both lithe and lethal in equal measure. Her girl has exactly the right amount of curve to her- though Alara notes she would have a solid cup size on her girl if she believed in wearing bras. She's mildly disappointed to see Voltaea doesn't share that proclivity. Alara has to bite back a scowl when she notices the tacky little handmade necklace that Voltaea still wears around her neck. I'll deal with that little attachment later.
Alara dips down to grab the outfit, guiding Voltaea’s legs into the bottom of it one at a time. She does each clasp as she works her way up. “Here, you pull up the front and slip your arms into the sleeves - I’ll go behind and zip.”
“It’s sticking everywhere…” Voltaea struggles to pull the sleeves on.
“That’s because you’re sweating, darling, calm your breathing - “ Alara trails behind Voltaea, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of her robe and handing it to her as she goes. “ - Use this to wipe yourself down, then pull it on, it’ll stick less.” She does as she’s told and the outfit is a bit more compliant with her wrangling - she’s managed to pull the sleeves on fully now.
Alara pulls the zipper up Voltaea’s back, leaning in close to her ear as she reaches the top. “ Good girl .” Voltaea lets out a small gasp and Alara takes a few steps back. “Now, turn around so I can get a good look at you.”
Voltaea’s hair is still an unmitigated disaster - but the outfit - Gods! I may actually have to give Orville some credit tomorrow - it's perfect. Black, she notes for later, is very much her girl’s color - the chrome accents and dagger-clasps shimmer every time she shifts and draws the eye to every subtle curve she has.
Alara pulls her gently, positioning her in front of the floor-length mirror on the closet door. “Look, aren’t you marvelous?” Voltaea examines herself - shifting from side to side to see how the light catches off of the outfit. She frowns when she looks up at her hair.
“Do you have a brush, or a comb, even? I have to fix this.” Alara nods and wanders to the bathroom to find her one - returning a moment later with a red-handled rounded hairbrush.
“Do you want me to - “ Voltaea cuts Alara off before she can finish asking.
“No. I have a system.” Alara shrugs and hands her girl the brush.
“Far be it from me to argue with greatness.” She lingers behind Voltaea and watches as she gathers the mess of her hair into tightly wound control again. She’s rough with it - like when she digs at her scar - pulling at the sides of her face until she has a perfectly slicked bun atop her head once more.
Voltaea looks at herself in the mirror, nods, then hands Alara the brush over her shoulder. “Better. What now?” She seems to have relaxed some - she’s certainly not shaking anymore - and she’s taken on a tone of intensity in her voice that Alara can’t help but admire.
“We study your opponents of course - why do you think I had Orville tape every Reaping?” Alara glides over to the daybed, sitting in the corner and motioning for Voltaea to join her. She plucks a bowl of grapes from among the plates of uneaten dinner as Voltaea joins her - her walk is a bit stiff from the outfit but she manages. Alara is pleasantly surprised when her girl chooses a seat mere inches from her rather than on the opposite side. “We’ll start with District One and work our way through the rest.”
Alara rolls the tape - Voltaea grabs her notepad - and the two settle in for a long run of Reapings. They start to settle into comfortable banter midway through District One when the boy takes the stage and flips his hair around like he’s posing for a magazine shoot. Voltaea calls him a useless peacock - Alara gives her permission to kill him first - both fall into each other laughing.
They stay entwined through the footage from the next few Districts - skipping Five. They only shift apart enough so they both can grab a bite here or there - or so Voltaea can scribble something on her notepad. Her girl certainly has a lot of opinions - not all she agrees with - particularly her assessment of the tributes from Seven. She lets it slide for now without too much debate.
When they come around to District Eight - Alara tenses. These are the ones we have to kill - you can let the others fight amongst themselves, but you have to end these two. The footage would be the edited version - whatever Snow ended up airing rather than the full riot he described - but she still isn’t sure how to approach the topic with Voltaea.
The tape rolls - you can see District Eight’s escort take the stage. Alara leans in conspiratorially to whisper in her girl’s ear “I have a longstanding rivalry with one of the mentors from Eight -”
Voltaea drops her voice to match Alara’s. “The one you host your show with, right? Ismene?” She starts a fresh page of her notes with the name at the top. “She cries more than Coulomb - I don’t really understand why you call her a rival.”
Alara laughs - “Yes, yes she does. She also has a particular gift for pulling sponsors with those crocodile tears of hers - and a real eye for unconventional talents.” The escort on the screen is wrapping up her prepared speech while Alara continues. “A few years ago she even managed to scrape together a victor - Cecilia something-or-other. She hasn’t stopped gloating about that one.” She can’t hide the disappointment in her voice - Cecilia had been a complete upset, and Ismene had said some particularly nasty things to Alara in the wake of her win.
The escort on the tape pulls the first name - Weaver Choudhary - and they both quiet down and pull their eyes to the television. Did they call the boy first? It’s the first thing Alara can think of when Weaver takes the stage with her short-cropped hair and permanent scowl. She can’t be more than fourteen or fifteen, but Alara didn’t see where in the crowd she came from. The escort goes to say something - but the tape cuts oddly, some filler footage of the crowd talking among themselves is spliced in.
The footage cuts back to the stage where the escort pulls the other name in short order - Satin Choudhary. She can see the boy walk up to the stage - a few inches taller than his sister, but less well-built. They look almost identical apart from that - down to the haircut. He’s shaking like a leaf in the wind, tears welling up at the corner of his eyes. Weaver, still scowling, walks over to him and pulls him into a hug - the footage cuts back to the same loop of the crowd talking amongst themselves as before, shot from a slightly different angle.
Voltaea leans forward when she notices the change - “Alara - look. I think they’ve cut the crowd's reaction. This looks almost exactly like what they showed before.”
You really are too smart for your own good sometimes - alright then - a new approach. Alara’s voice is tentative - she wants to lead her girl to the right conclusions, not give them to her. “You may be right… but if you are, can you think of why that might be the case?”
The tape ends with the District Eight logo flashing on screen - they don’t show any further footage of the stage. Voltaea closes her eyes - runs her nails gently down her scar, just enough to prick the wounds she opens there. After a minute or so of waiting, Alara stands, making her way to the closet again. “I’m going to get dressed while you think about it, darling.”
She’s halfway squeezed herself into a scarlet, one-shouldered cocktail dress made entirely of glittering metallic scales when Voltaea speaks again. “They cut the footage because there’s something they don’t want people to see.”
Alara stays with her back turned to Voltaea so she can’t see the triumphant grin on her face. You get it, then, darling. She keeps her voice measured. “And if we follow that logic, how does this affect our strategy?”
“Well… I have to think through it. If I’m right about the footage, that means they’ve marked themselves for death already - someone important has noticed them.” Voltaea’s voice has taken on a colder edge - like it had earlier when she was animatedly describing some of her favorite trap designs. I like this side of you, my little spark. Alara turns around to look at her - Voltaea is staring right back, a small smirk forming at the corner of her lips.
“I trust you have the sense to know that would make them poor allies.” Alara knows full well Voltaea is past that point from the devious look she’s getting - but she wants to hear her say it.
“Yes, but -” Her girl pauses - writes something in her notes. “They seem like great early targets, don’t they?”