Chapter Text
Puzzles: Voltaea
Voltaea Amprole never feels more alive than when she has a puzzle to solve, and Alara has more than delivered with this strategy session. Focusing drowns out the unbearable noise of the world around her. This year’s slate of tributes is stronger than she’d hoped so far - but Alara doesn’t seem deterred. Voltaea tries not to be either. She even makes a joke about the boy from District One that her mentor gives her a real laugh for - it makes her chest feel tight.
Both of the career picks from Two are enormous - Cassia Brigg and Tiber Spade - she notes them for later. Need to keep my distance, won’t win in a straight fight. Try using their strength against them - or use them against each other. There’s a few names she marks as potential allies in the mix - the tributes from Three are usually smart, which appeals - though their boy this year is barely thirteen and frankly doesn’t stand a chance. The girl though - Ixia Byte - she could be useful. Ixia - Possible ally, discuss with Alara after training observations. Kito - too young to win, check for relevant skills - could be a risk if I ally with his District partner.
Alara warns her not to get too attached. Voltaea just smiles. I won’t. She gets distracted when they switch to the District Four tape - Alara goes on a bit of a tangent about mentor politics and her dislike of Mags Flannagan. She writes this down too. Ignore Four - Alara disapproves. Watch both in training for weaknesses.
The tributes from Six are wholly unremarkable - the girl, Raila, looks like she’s about to vomit when she walks up on the stage. Then, to the horror of Six’s escort, she DOES vomit while they’re calling the next name. The boy, Elian, is far too thin for his height - long blonde hair and a sad, distant smile on his face. Alara rolls her eyes. “He won’t last, too weak, but the boy will definitely pull a few sponsors with that look.” She jots down a few notes. Raila - likely ill, safe to ignore. Elian - might pull sponsors or inspire sympathy in competitors, mark for death.
Voltaea ignores the buzzing, metallic static that rises in her ears and churns her stomach every time she commits to a kill. This is what you’re training for, this is what your notes were for - They’ll be dead if you kill them or not. Twenty-Four enter, only one can leave. She reminds herself of her promise to Ohma… and of Alara’s unwavering faith in her. It helps, some.
She recenters herself on the faint whir the television makes when a recording starts to play - they’re up to Seven now. She barely realizes Alara is still wrapped around her until she shifts slightly and Voltaea has to lean back in to find the warmth of her body again. Don’t feel weird about it. Don’t BE weird about it. You’re comfortable - that’s what she says is important.
Frankly, the tributes from Seven have impressed her the most so far out of the non-careers. The girl, Sarah Thistlewood, is seventeen and built like a tree in autumn - her hair is a more natural-looking red than Alara’s, and cascades down her back in waves. Her arms look like she’s been swinging an axe around since birth. She seems to be around Voltaea’s height, but twice the width - all muscle. She flips off the escort and whoops when she takes the stage - to resounding cheers from the crowd. “I like her - she's fiery.” Voltaea feels her chest tighten slightly when the girl on stage howls like a wolf to another round of audience cheers. “And huge - it might be better to team up than fight.”
“She looks arrogant, darling , and she has no idea how to tame those curls. I’d be careful.” Alara’s voice has a slight tone of disdain. Voltaea notes both opinions under Sarah’s name on her list. The boy, Bashir Cedar, is called next. He’s a few years younger, and walks the whole way to the stage with his arms crossed and his head down - scowling at anyone who looks at him. Sarah offers him a handshake when he gets on stage and he manages to almost smile - returning it to a howl of approval from the larger girl. Sarah could be a strong potential ally - though District unity will end up as a contention point. Assess Bashir later to determine suitability.
When they get to District Eight’s recording, Alara mentions her rivalry with one of their mentors - Ismene Lux. Voltaea feels the tremor rise in the hand Alara has draped over her shoulder while she speaks about Ismene’s recent victor. I’ll be in the arena. I could make sure that doesn’t happen again…
The thought startles her - she hasn’t even seen the tributes yet. Something about the way Alara’s words seem tinged with ache and regret when she speaks about her cohost just makes her… tense. Angry, even. What gives Ismene the right to act like she’s so perfect? She barely got a mention in my notes - useless.
She tries to center herself by refocusing on the wub-wub-wub-wub of the train below them. Calm. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply through her nose. Collected. She exhales, and reaches up to squeeze the shaking hand draped over her shoulder before returning to her notes. Controlled?
Voltaea watches with rapt attention when the first name is called and the crowd of fourteen-year-olds part to let Weaver Choudhary through. She’s short, with tan skin and dark hair. She’s also scowling the whole way onto the stage, and looks like she’s ready to kill the escort who read her name. When the escort goes to speak - the recording stutters - there’s a faint whine, brief, but noticeable. The camera cuts back to the crowd, whispering among each other while the wind blows over the microphones with a whoosh every few moments making their words indiscernible . That’s strange, the other videos don’t change perspective like this.
The static starts to clear in her ears as she narrows her sights on the next tribute. It takes her a moment to register that Satin has the same last name as the girl who was just called - and comes from the same age section. Twins? Her mind turns to Ohma - what she’d feel like if her sister’s name were called - she has to drown the thought before it overtakes her. If I want to see her again, they have to die. Her stomach churns - she tenses - tries to chase the gut-wrenching feeling away with reason. Maybe it’s kinder if they die together - then neither has to live without the other.
The video cuts back to the crowd from just after the boy mounts the stage - with a similar, brief whine . Huh? She leans forward in her seat when she hears the same whoosh of the wind as before. In fact, when she looks at the crowd itself it seems like this is the exact same footage as before - she recognizes some of the faces, their positions in the crowd. This is the same thing they showed before - the angle’s a little off but I’m sure of it. She listens for another whoosh of the wind that she knows is coming - and confirms her suspicions when she hears it.
She brings it up to Alara immediately. Her mentor cocks her head to the side, pausing before she responds. She’s thinking about something, what is it? Her voice sounds soft, sweet - but measured - not song-like this time. “You may be right… but if you are, can you think of why that might be the case?”
No. But I’ll come up with something. She doesn't bother to say it aloud. Voltaea slams her eyes shut to block out any noise from the lights. Focus . She digs her nails into her palm again, lightly, just enough pain to focus - to dull the static so she can think clearly. Think back to the tapes from the library - what I know about the Capitol - what I know about the games. Alara says something but she doesn't quite catch it - though she almost loses her edge when she feels her mentor stand up and the warmth of her body leaves her. Focus.
There’s only one reason she can think of that they might cut the footage of the Reaping before it airs - if there’s something on the tape the Capitol doesn’t want people to see. Markus had told her once, in hushed tones, about a fight that broke out during a Reaping when he was a kid - they’d had to redo the whole thing because the fight got so close to the stage that they couldn’t cut around it. She wasn’t entirely sure she believed him - there was no record of the fight anywhere she could find, and no one else she talked to was old enough to be around back then. She certainly believed him now.
She opens her eyes - ready to tell Alara her theory - when she realizes her mentor has stripped to redress herself. Alara stands with her back to Voltaea wearing nothing but red, lace underwear that reveal far more than her own solid-black briefs do. She feels the bass-tone of her heart thump-thump-thump into her throat again as she watches Alara pull a dress from the closet.
I should say something. She doesn’t speak yet. I shouldn’t be staring. She keeps watching. I don’t know what I’m doing. She does - but she drowns it so she won’t have to think about it. A familiar heat rises in her core. Shit. She takes in every perfect, exposed inch of the woman in front of her as she steps into the dress and starts to pull it up. Focus!
“They cut the footage because there’s something they don’t want people to see.” Voltaea forces herself to speak - an attempt to break her stupid, uncooperative body out of its stupor.
“And if we follow that logic, how does this affect our strategy?” Alara keeps her voice measured - Voltaea can tell there’s a correct answer here, she just has to find it. She’s testing me.
“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.” If I’m the one to kill them, Ismene won’t be able to hurt Alara anymore. She’ll have the advantage this time. Her more rational mind chimes in as well. … and whoever important has noticed these two might be happy with the results. V oltaea smiles to herself - she’s solved her puzzle - and Alara’s going to love this idea.
Alara turns to look at her - Shit! I’m staring, why am I staring? She can hear the smirk in her mentor’s voice before she sees it on her lips. Maybe she doesn’t mind? “I trust you have the sense to know that would make them poor allies.” Oh, good, we’re still on strategy. I can do one better than that.
“Yes, but -” Voltaea pauses, turns to her notes, and marks both of the twins for death under their names on her page. She feels a small pang in her chest - Ohma would hate this. - She drowns the thought - Ohma told you to live, this is what she wants. “They seem like great early targets, don’t they?”
She almost regrets her words - almost - until she sees the huge grin form on Alara’s face that tells her this is exactly what she needed to hear. “I love the way your mind works, darling.” She feels herself burning alive from the inside out, wrapping herself in the silken sound of Alara’s compliment. “You might win yourself some friends in high places if your little theory holds true. At the very least, you’ll put on a good show - the Capitol does love its tragedies - and hunting down a set of twins? Well, it’s certainly tragic - poetic even! You might end up being a true artist in the arena.”
Voltaea averts her eyes - suddenly far too aware of Alara’s gaze. “I don’t know about all that, I don’t even know if this is a g-”
Alara interrupts - short, static, jarring, with a snap of her fingers. “Don’t be humble, it undercuts your image. If they catch you doubting yourself they’ll eat you alive.”
She flips her notepad to the first page - where she’s put Alara’s rules so far, and adds Don’t be humble and Don’t show doubt to her list. Her mentor glides back across the room and stops in front of her - she turns around. Her dress is still undone in the back. “Would you mind zipping me into this?”
Voltaea feels her words catch in her throat - so she just nods and hoists herself up from the couch-bed. Her hands are shaking - she can’t tell if it's the exhaustion or the nerves at this point - and fumbles with the zipper on the shimmering red dress. Her heartbeat is thump-thump-thumping so loudly she can barely hear anything else - the proximity almost makes her feel drunker than the wine did. She wills herself to say something - anything - just to break the gnawing tension in her chest. “It’s a… nice dress.”
Alara turns to look at her just as she wins her battle with the zipper. “Thank you, darling.” She winks, and Voltaea feels herself drowning in flames. “I thought you might like it.” Her mentor does a small twirl to punctuate her words and flecks of light reflect off the dress around the room like tiny, scarlet stars. She’s still mesmerized when Alara speaks again “You should settle in, my sweet, we still have four districts to go and -” She looks at the clock again “Oh, Gods above - we have less than an hour left. Nevermind then - the other districts can wait! We need to finish getting ready for your big debut!”
Voltaea looks at herself in the mirror across the room - the silvery detailing on the bodysuit makes it look like she's been bound in wires. The tightness of the whole outfit is strange - suffocating even. At least I still feel like myself from the neck up. “I thought this was ready.” She gestures at the suit.
Alara raises an eyebrow. “You don’t even have shoes on, darling, do you really think this is presentable?”
Voltaea starts to worry that her heart will never stop pounding in her ears at this rate. “Yes, I mean. No? I don’t know…” She shrugs - tries to play off her buzzing nerves instead of leaning into them - “I wear the same coveralls every day for work - this is your area of expertise, not mine.”
She gets the laugh she was hoping for out of Alara - sweet and serenading - and can’t help but smile to herself. “Of course - you just let me handle it for now. We’ll have plenty of time to teach you the ins and outs of Capitol trendsetting after you win.” She really believes I’m going to win - no - wait. I have to win. It’s not a question of belief. Don’t be humble, Don’t show doubt.
Alara puts a hand on Voltaea’s shoulder, guiding her back onto the couch-bed. “Sit. And if you need to squirm - do it now - I’ll need you still while I do your makeup.” Her mentor wanders to the rolling wardrobe Orville had brought earlier, and rummages through the bottom until she finds a pair of black, heeled boots with silver accents and tosses them to Voltaea. “Here, put these on, I’ll grab my kit.” She heads to the bathroom.
Voltaea unzips the back of the boots and slides them on. They’re not completely incomprehensible like the bodysuit - more like a fancier version of what she wears to work every day. It’s almost a comfort, until she goes to stand up and remembers they have three-inch heels attached to them. She nearly trips into the coffee table trying to catch her balance. Thankfully, Alara doesn’t return with her makeup bag until she’s righted herself.
“The extra height does wonders - you almost look intimidating!” There’s a faint squeal from the train beneath them as the whole car lurches slightly, followed by the crackle of static from the intercom coming to life.
The voice of the train buzzes through the speakers - “We will be arriving in the Capitol in thirty minutes.”
Alara glares at the speaker like it just insulted her character. “I hate rushing - but we’ll have to work with what we have.” Her mentor slides across the room and slams her makeup bag down on the table. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll do this as quickly as I can.” Voltaea sits back down - Alara grabs a pillow to rest her neck on, positioning her head so she’s facing up at her. “Hold still.” She does as she’s told - steeling herself like she had at the Reaping. Calm, collected, controlled.
Alara pulls a few different things out of her bag - she recognizes at least some of it - lipstick and eyeshadow, anyway. Her mother wears those every day, despite barely being able to afford them. One time, when she was younger, she’d snuck into her mother’s room and tried to put her makeup on. Teslene had smacked her when she found her - and told her she shouldn’t waste such expensive things on such a cheap-looking face. Never again. I’m not hers to tear down anymore.
Alara pulls out some kind of black pencil and cups Voltaea’s chin to shift her face slightly. “Close your eyes for a moment, darling. This might be a bit uncomfortable - just don’t move.” She shuts them - leans back into the pillow slightly and tries to find the rhythm of the train again. The low wubs have gotten further apart - they must be slowing down at this point.
She has to dig her nails into her scar to stop herself from flinching when Alara touches her eye with the pencil - but manages to keep still. It takes her a couple of minutes to work - Voltaea counts each beat of the train’s movement - leans into the warmth of the hand cupping her face. “Open, I need to see my work.”
Alara is much closer to her than she realized, looking her over with the same expression Voltaea gets when she’s fiddling with intricate circuitry - intense, focused, penetrating. “Perfect-” She grabs two individual eyeshadows and holds them up. “- I’ll let you choose. Silver to blend in, or red to stand out?”
It doesn’t take her long to decide “Red.”
“Good girl - close your eyes again.” Alara continues speaking after she does “I’d love to have time to do your whole face - but this will do for now.” She feels her mentor’s hand cradling her cheek - the heat is less unbearable, more comforting. It tickles slightly when she starts brushing the shadow over her eyelids but she keeps steady by counting the wubs and squeals of the train slowing beneath them.
“You look good in red - at least as an accent. We’ll keep this one on hand for later.” She feels the warmth pull away and opens her eyes again. Alara is smiling wildly and twirling the brush around her fingers while she admires her handiwork.
“Can I see what I look like?” Am I pulling this off?
“Absolutely not - we need to do something with your lips first.” Voltaea frowns at Alara’s answer - it’s mostly for show - she didn’t really expect a yes. She yawns - that’s not for show - the exhaustion of the day is finally starting to catch up to her.
“Can I sleep when we’re done with this?” Am I even going to be able to?
“You ask too many questions - close your mouth and push your lips out a bit.” Alara models the motion with her own. “Like this.”
Voltaea purses her lips as best she can - trying to ignore the echoing voice of her mother in her head telling her they’re too thin. She focuses on the sounds in the moment instead - Alara’s breathing, the slowing train, the static in her ear, the heartbeat in her chest - and blends them together into something almost like a melody. Calm.
“I’m going a bit darker than the red we used on your eyes - it’ll give your look that edge of ferocity it needs.” Voltaea can’t picture what could possibly mean - she just lets her mentor apply the waxy substance over her lips with a practiced flourish. “Alright, give your lips a quick rub together - carefully, don’t smear it on your face.” She does her best not to ruin Alara’s hard work.
“Now can I look?” I hope I don’t look awful.
“Of course, darling.” Alara reaches out a hand to help her up. Voltaea lets her pull her to her feet - she doesn’t let go - just walks the two of them to the mirror together. “There - look at us! We’re going to drive the tabloids absolutely wild. You’ll have sponsors lining up by breakfast.”
She looks at herself - and she’s surprised to find she’s thrilled with the results. The awful, uncomfortable pencil she applied earlier seems to have been to line her eyes with a sharp, pointed black - it brings out the color like she’s never seen before. Voltaea smiles - the blood-dark red on her lips does make her look intimidating, even with a smirk. The eyeshadow matches the tone of Alara’s dress - the glitter even catches the light in a similar way - her chest tightens at the thought. “I barely look like myself… but I do like it - a lot, actually. Thank you.”
Alara turns to her, cups her chin with her clawed hand, and guides Voltaea to look into her eyes. “Voltaea, you sweet, silly thing - you DO look like yourself - the version you were meant to be.” She grins. “The version who’s going to take the Capitol by storm .”
The intercom crackles - the voice of the train only half-decipherable through the static. “We will be arriving at the Capitol in five minutes, please prepare to disembark”
“That’s our cue!” Alara has already dragged her halfway to the door before she realizes she’s forgotten to put her own heels on.”Just a moment, darling!” She scrambles back to the closet to grab them. Voltaea can feel the train slowing significantly - the squeal of the brakes has morphed into a constant, atonal screech that makes her head throb. Alara grabs a pair of too-tall crimson heels, sculpted from glass with metallic straps to match her dress. She slips them on with ease, and fiddles with a small switch on the back of each one. The glass bottoms fill with mist and flashes that look like red lightning - the bursts more intense every time she steps in them.
Alara slides her arm through Voltaea’s, linking them at the elbow. “Alright, now I’m ready. Let’s go steal the show.” She leads them out of the sleeper car - the door sliding shut behind them with a final hiss .
They make their way down the train towards the lounge car - Alara’s heels click-click-clicking across the floor and bathing the walls with blazing red lights each time she steps. Voltaea is unsteady at first - the extra height throws off her stride - but she’s almost confident by the time they reach the lounge. “Should I say anything? Or just kind of look - you know.” She wrenches her face into the biggest scowl she can muster. “Angry?” They stop just outside the door.
Alara turns to look at her and cackles - not the teasing one - But I wasn’t trying to make a joke. “Voltaea, darling, you look ridiculous - just keep your face neutral. Don’t give the cameras a single ounce of your attention. Eyes forward, shoulders back, keep your arm locked with mine if you need to steady yourself.”
“Alright, got it - just like at the Reaping.” She takes a deep breath as Alara opens the door to the lounge car. They find Coulomb already waiting with Orville. There’s a duo of Peacekeepers near the entrance, and a few of the other staff are mulling around, chattering among themselves. The tanned, silent man from earlier is standing near Orville, listening intently while he chirps to him about something Voltaea can’t make out. Every head in the room turns to look at them as they walk in. Voltaea gives a half-hearted wave as Alara leads her right to the door of the train - Coulomb returns it as she passes. He’s dressed in something that almost looks like a tiny wedding suit - like she’d seen her father wear in pictures of her parent’s ceremony - but it’s a bright, almost blinding purple instead of a neat black.
Voltaea looks out the small window on the door - they’re going slowly enough now that the sight of the world whizzing by outside doesn’t make her feel quite so sick. She only catches a brief glimpse of the city - the lights are so bright even at this hour that she can make out hundreds of massive buildings as far as they eye can see. It looks even bigger up close than it does on Ohma’s fashion shows. The train pulls into the station and cuts off her moment of awe - now all she can see is the massive crowd of colorful Capitol citizens gathered on the platform.
She nearly falls into Alara when the train starts its final brake - practically screaming its way into the station as it comes to a stop. Shit, there are so many of them out there. Voltaea digs her nails into her scar and leans into the pain that shoots through it - Calm . Just stand tall and stay neutral. She squares her shoulders, sets her face straight like she had at the reaping. Collected. I’m not going to disappoint her. I’m going to win them over. She looks to Alara, who gives her a nod of approval. Her mentor whispers to her - soft and songlike. “You’re perfect, stop overthinking it.” Controlled.
One of the Peacekeepers presses the button to open the doors - he exits first to part the crowd. Voltaea has to stifle the urge to scream the second the soundproofing is broken. There’s just so many voices - so many flashes - so many ridiculous outfits, hairdos, and surgical alterations that half of the people on the platform barely register to her as human. The crackle of static in her ears rises like it's trying to drown out the overwhelming noise of it all. She keeps her eyes forward and locks the rhythm of her steps with the click-click-click of Alara’s heels as they descend the stairs onto the platform.
The only thing that feels familiar to her in this awful place is the warmth of Alara’s arm still wrapped around her own - she tries to focus on that - hopes it’ll be enough to keep her upright as the discordant chorus of the crowd shouts question after question at her. She couldn’t answer them if she’d tried - she can barely make out what they’re saying. Alara seems more engaged - winking at cameras, waving to the crowd, flashing her freshly-filed nails at a journalist who actually screams and falls into the woman next to him in response. Oh. I get it now. Everyone here is completely insane. Somehow that thought makes it a bit easier to ignore them as they make their way to a set of stairs at the opposite end of the station. The Peacekeepers have taken position at the bottom to keep the horde of onlookers away.
They start their descent - the deafening roar of the crowd receding behind them with every step. I hope that’s the last of them. To Voltaea’s relief, the click-click-click of Alara’s heels is audible again - quickly overtaking the rest of the noise from above as they round the first platform on the stairs and continue climbing downward. Alara leans over to whisper again - just loud enough for her to hear. “This tunnel will take us right to the Training Center - they had it put in after a boy from District 6 tried to dart into traffic, some fifteen-or-so years back. He failed to get himself killed, of course, but not without making an impact.”
“Are we done with crowds?” She whispers back, a note of panic creeping into her voice.
"For now.” They reach the bottom of the stairs and begin their trek down the long, faintly-lit hallway - Alara’s flashing red heels casting an eerie glow as they go. They walk without words for a while - the lights along the walls hum faintly - Alara’s clicking steps echo as they go.
They approach a set of glass doors at the far end - it looks like an elevator. Voltaea has never actually seen one outside of textbooks. “YES! I’ve always wanted to ride one of these!” She’s practically buzzing with excitement, she can’t contain herself.
Alara gives her a strange look - half smiling, half questioning. “You have an odd set of interests, darling, but who am I to judge?”
She feels the tell-tale shock of embarrassment creep into her face. “I… like technology.” Voltaea trips over her words a bit. “It’s not like there’s anything like this in Five. They have us read about it, so we can understand the principles behind how they work, but that's nothing like seeing it up close, you know? I just. I don’t know…”
Alara releases her arm, pushes a button on a panel next to the door, and turns to face her. “You don’t have to justify yourself, Voltaea. This was all new to me once, too.” Her voice trails off for a moment, when she speaks again it’s softer, almost sentimental. That’s new. “I remember the first time I ate something that wasn’t baked from tesserae grain or thrown-together scraps - it was just a steak, nothing special, but Gods - the taste! Everything in the Capitol is like that - richer, fuller, better than it is in the Districts. It was the first time I felt like there might be something more for me out there if I could just figure out how to take it. ”
The elevator doors open, and Alara ushers them inside the glass-walled room. Coulomb and Orville are trailing behind further down the hallway, along with the rest of the staff from the train. Alara yells out “No time to hold the doors, you’ll have to grab the next one!” She presses a button on the inner panel that shuts the doors immediately, then the one labeled “District Five”.
Alara turns back to Voltaea as the elevator lurches upward. “You’ll have to excuse my lie - I just can’t stand being stuck in close quarters with Orville… or children prone to sobbing… or most people, really.”
Voltaea laughs - she can’t really stand being close to Orville either. Not that he’s the worst person, it’s just that awful, sickly, chirping voice of his drives her nuts . Oh, wait, that means… “So you don’t mind being stuck with me?”
Alara rolls her eyes, but she still has a smirk at the corner of her lips when she speaks. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” The elevator is suddenly bathed in bright light as they ascend into the largest, most elaborate room Voltaea has ever seen. She presses up against the glass to get a better look as they shoot upward.
“It’s huge!” She can see uniformed staff and crazily-dressed Capitolians running around like ants on the floor below.
Alara wraps an arm over her shoulder and pulls her down slightly to whisper in her ear - “That’s just the lobby, darling, wait until you see our private floor.” They ascend out of the lobby and she has to turn her gaze back to her mentor to stay upright. The way the floors fly past them in rapid succession gives her the same feeling she had on the train looking out the window - like falling.
The elevator starts to grind slightly - then stops with a lurch as they reach what she can only assume is their private floor. There’s an electronic ding sound as the doors open - Alara slides her arm down to wrap it around her waist and guide her forward. The room they enter is vast - the lounge area alone is bigger than her whole apartment back in Five. The couch might be bigger than the apartment by itself. There's a large, almost circular sofa in a black and white pattern with huge, red accent pillows spread deliberately around it - a massive screen on the wall on the open side is airing some kind of late-night news program but the volume is muted.
There’s soft background music - light drums, some kind of strings - that swirls through the room and makes it feel far cozier than its size would suggest it is. The lights above whine faintly - it’s not as bad as some of the fluorescents back home, but it’s noticeable, especially up close. Alara leads her over to the couch. “Sit. I’ll grab us a nightcap before I show you to your room.”
She lets herself sink into the sofa - watches as Alara clicks her way across the room to a marbled bar counter. It’s even softer than the furniture on the train - she leans over and lets her head rest on one of the fluffy red pillows. Alara bends over to undo the straps on her heels - Voltaea shuts her eyes to squash the overwhelming urge to stare as she does.
Voltaea hears a faint clunk - She’s probably thrown her shoes again. The soothing music from the speakers above them winds its way into her ears. I’m so tired. She hears the thumping of her heart slow as she breathes deeply and sinks further into the sofa. I don’t think she'll be mad if I take a quick nap, will she? The silence of sleep overtakes her before she has a chance to get an answer.