Chapter Text
Nerves: Alara
Alara Vox can feel how nervous Voltaea is before they’ve even opened the doors to the train. You think you’re hiding it from me, darling, but I can see your mind racing - you have that look in your eye. She whispers to her girl that she’s perfect - to stop overthinking - she means it. She can feel Voltaea soften on her arm as she speaks. Good girl.
The Peacekeepers open the doors to the train and she leads Voltaea out - arm in arm - behind them. A throng of reporters near the stairs start barking questions at her as soon as they see her - “Is this your favorite tribute this year? Do you think you have a chance?” - “Who’s your stylist this year? you both look incredible!” - “FashionPulse ran an article an hour ago claiming you personally escorted your tributes to the train for the first time - what changed?”. She ignores them all - opting to wink, wave, and blow kisses to the cameras instead. Fucking vultures - Not one of them understands greatness when they see it.
She notices a reporter who she’d met a few weeks ago when he came on as a guest to the Crimson Cut - she can’t think of his name - she just remembers he was there to do a piece about Victor-led fashion trends that very nearly bored her to death. Let’s see what you make of this. She flashes her nails - the one’s shes filed down just for her girl. He squeals like a stuck pig and nearly faints into the camerawoman next to him as they continue past. Perfect, they’ll have six thinkpieces out about what this means by breakfast.
Voltaea still feels stiff walking beside her - but she does look incredible - just as stern and steely and mysterious as she’d hoped she would. They approach the stairs at the opposite end of the platform and she can feel the tension leave her girl again as they start their descent. She explains where they’re headed as they round the first corner on the stairs - picking up their pace just slightly in the hopes she can put a gap between her and Orville. I might have to kill the boy if he tries to ride up with us - I’ve had enough of everyone today.
Voltaea seems to feel similarly because she asks if they’ve finished with the crowds. “For now.” It’s all the comfort she can give. We both belong to the audience now, darling - you’ll adjust. They walk in silence for a while - she can hear Orville chattering to his teary little whelp somewhere behind them and walks a bit faster.
They stop in front of the elevator and she sees Voltaea get genuinely excited - her face lights up the same way it did when she told her about all of her plans. The sickly-sweet taste of sentiment wells up in her throat and she can’t be bothered to fight it this time. “YES! I’ve always wanted to ride one of these!”
Alara has to stifle the urge to laugh - it’s almost childish - but endearing, I’ll give you that . “You have an odd set of interests, darling, but who am I to judge?” Her girl flushes, tries to over-explain herself like she’s done something wrong. She cuts her off and summons the elevator.
“You don’t have to justify yourself, Voltaea. This was all new to me once, too.” The memory hits her like a speeding train - it’s like seeing her younger self realize there was more to the world than her petty existence for the first time. “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. ”
She hadn’t meant to go on like that. Voltaea is staring at her with a look of awe like she’s just revealed some grand secret of the universe - she almost feels embarrassed. Get a grip, Alara. They step into the elevator and she calls out to Orville - they won’t be riding together if she has anything to say about it - and closes the door.
“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.” Her girl tries to bait a compliment in response - She rolls her eyes. Cute, but I won’t bite this time, you’ll have to try harder. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”
It’s an elevator ride she’s taken more than a dozen times before, but Voltaea is so enchanted by the experience that she can’t help but smile. They don’t talk much on the way up - just idle chatter. I’m glad you’re having fun, darling - but I’d prefer to be the source of your excitement. She wraps an arm around her girl - whispers in her ear - just to see that beautiful blush in her cheeks again.
When they finally reach District Five’s private floor she slides her arm strategically down to Voltaea’s waist. She twitches, but doesn’t fight the gesture - just lets herself be led over to the large, circular sectional in the lounge area. “Sit. I’ll grab us a nightcap before I show you to your room.” Her girl does as she’s told and Alara glides over to the bar counter to mix something relaxing for the two of them. No drugs this time - a clean white liquor and orange juice with a splash of syrup.
It’s apparently an exercise in futility, because when she turns around Voltaea is already curled up with a pillow - dead to the world. She sighs - not like it would do any good to move her now. Alara leaves the drinks on the bar counter and wanders to the windows - pressing a button on the side that fades them to black so the sun won’t disturb the poor thing when it comes up in a few hours.
The elevator doors fling open again and Orville is chatting away with the boy and several other staff - loudly. She shoots a glare at him and raises a finger to her lips. He at least has the awareness to shut up when he sees her, and ushers the tired-looking brat out of the room when he notices the sleeping form of Voltaea on the sectional. The rest of them scatter like roaches - off to wherever they go when they’re not irritating her.
Alara grabs both drinks off of the bar - I suppose that means there’s more for me. She steals a last glance at Voltaea - she looks so much softer in sleep. The poor thing hadn’t even bothered to change her clothes - she still looks more comfortable than Alara has ever felt in her life. She’s tempted to curl up on the other side of the couch, just to see if it’s as nice as her girl makes it look . She resists the urge - heading down the hallway to her own private suite.
She’s relieved to find the space is just as she left it - half art, half chaos, all hers . It’s the one place in the world she has that no one else can touch - apart from the occasional cleaner she has in to deal with those particularly large messes she creates from time to time. The enormous, red-draped canopy bed centered on the far wall is practically screaming for her to crawl into it and let the world melt away - There’s still a few things left to do before that’s an option. She slams back one of the drinks in her hand in honor of being home again, leaving the glass on the vanity near the door.
Alara heads to the bathroom and sets the shower as hot as it will allow her to, then rummages through the medicine cabinet for her nightly pills. One for the blood pressure, one for the pain, one to chase off the nightmares where she can still hear the screams of the tributes she’s lost - like she’s watching the live broadcast all over again. No more of that, not this year. She swallows them with a handful of water from the sink as the shower steam starts to fill the room. She discards her dress in the corner of the room, puts her remaining drink down next to the sink, then steps into the scalding hot water to burn away the cloud around her thoughts. Clarity .
It's too hot - “Fuck!” - she cranks the temperature down to a manageable level and presses up to the side wall while the water corrects itself. The water calms after a few seconds and she steps back under the stream, letting it wash away the stain of the Reaping and the lingering stench of smog on her skin. She feels the tension melting from every muscle - every thought working its way back into order - every nerve ending wrapped in warmth and calm .
She’d expected this year to be like every other - sometimes there’d be one potentially promising tribute, but not one she saw any real fight in. Usually it’d just be two useless whelps she’d have to mourn before they even set foot in the arena. Voltaea surprised her - it’s difficult to do after all these years - that alone has to count for something. Apart from herself, she’d never met someone quite so dead inside who still felt like fighting - that's the kind of advantage you need in the Games. A willingness to do whatever it takes to survive.
Alara wasn’t quite sure her girl had that in her until she’d bragged about being able to behead a man with a wire trap with a smile on her face. That kind of drive can’t be taught in a few days of training - hells, some of the Careers don’t have that in them and they get years to practice. And the way Voltaea looks at her? Like you think I’m something divine . That’s the luckiest hand she’s been dealt in decades.
She grabs for a cherry blossom and rose scented body wash - one of her favorites - and squirts it onto a washcloth. I didn’t even have to ask you to kill those twins - you’re already six steps ahead. She lathers herself, savoring the smell of the soap - the softness of the cloth - the steam from the shower - as she works her way over her skin from top to bottom.
Her mind wanders back to the train - where her girl had gotten so worked up from the slightest attention that she’d practically thrown herself at her. There’s a slight pang of something like guilt? Regret, perhaps? A fleeting thought that maybe, somehow, she’s taken advantage of the situation. She chases it off. Unnecessary. The girl clearly thrives on the attention - who am I to take that from her?
Besides, Alara had been sixteen once. It’s not like that had stopped Snow from selling her to the highest bidder. The first year after her victory, that was her lot - at least until she had a real reason to stay in the Capitol. She’d had to prove her worth to the man before he let her run free - hells, she still does. Every late-night manipulation, every planted tabloid scandal, every spin on a death she puts on live TV - she’s done everything Snow has ever asked of her. I won’t allow that to happen to you.
But how to guarantee that? If she makes it out alive - and Alara is certain she will - there’s always a risk she draws his attention. Or that some spectacularly rich sponsor will want a crack at her for their spending troubles. No. This one is mine. She surprises herself - she’s never been one to get attached. With Voltaea… it’s different. She can’t even imagine a world now where she doesn’t walk out alive. Where they don’t take the Capitol by storm together. Hang on…
What sells better than a scandal? Nothing, that’s what. The threads of a plan start to weave themselves together. It’s going to happen eventually - her girl clings to her whenever they’re together as it is. And if we plant the seeds now - an innuendo here or there - a stray touch too many in public… She smiles for an audience of no-one but herself. Maybe a photograph at just the right moment, leaked anonymously of course…
It's manipulative - underhanded - even a bit immoral, perhaps. Alara knows the game well enough to admit that - it’s for your own good, darling. Better to be mine than theirs. She’ll still have to convince Voltaea it’s her own idea, of course. I’ll have to turn the pressure up a notch if we’re going to break through those walls of yours before the countdown starts.
She mulls over a few ideas on how she could do that - at least until the pull of exhaustion becomes too strong to resist. She has to step out of the shower before she falls asleep standing, flicking on the powerful heated blower above her to dry off. She pulls a plush-fabric robe from the rack next to the shower and slips it on alongside a pair of slippers.
Alara catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she walks by - her hair and makeup are disastrous - We’ll have stylists in all day, no one else will see you in this state, let it be for now and take a rest. She coaches herself through the twisting knot of pain that forms whenever something about her is out of place.
She grabs the remaining drink from the corner of the sink and brings it to bed with her, leaving it on the nightstand while she slides under the scarlet silk sheets and props herself up with a few pillows. She claps twice - the lights come on in response, illuminating the space enough that she’s able to find the TV remote before clapping them off again. She flicks through the channels until she finds one that’s airing a rerun of her own show - something about the familiarity of it helps her fall asleep on nights like these.
Alara grabs the drink and takes a sip - the burn of the liquor in her throat and the warmth in her chest lulling her into a sense of serenity once again. She lets the glass clatter back onto the table as she curls up under the covers - listening to an argument between herself and Ismene playing out on the screen across the way. They’re going back and forth about who’s styling team was better in the 58th Games - It was mine, and I’ll stand by that. Her eyes drift shut, and she lets the warmth of winning that argument carry her into sleep.
She wakes to a knock at the door after what seems like no time at all - her head pounding in revolt at the interruption. There’s light coming in through the window now, and the television has turned itself off - so it can’t be quite as soon as she thinks. The alarm clock on her nightstand reads 9:30. What absolute fucking moron thinks its acceptable to wake me before noontime?
Alara springs out of bed - her head throbs violently in response. She can taste the copper tang of blood on the back of her tongue from some middle-of-the-night nosebleed. Her robe flies open and she wraps it back around herself half-heartedly while she heads for the door.
Her anger dissipates when she sees it’s Voltaea on the other side - still in the suit from yesterday, with her hair half fallen around her shoulders. She has to steady herself - her head still pounds and she feels a bit dizzy from the drinking. She settles on propping herself on the doorframe with one elbow in a casual lean that lets the front of her robe open ever so slightly . Her voice is still hoarse from sleep - not ideal - she’ll have to see if it still affects her girl the same.
“Voltaea -” The immediate blush in her girl’s cheeks tells her that yes, the effect is the same. “- Didn’t anyone warn you I don’t like to be woken up this early?” she keeps her tone light - with just enough edge to make her girl squirm .
Voltaea’s eyes drop down - she’s gone and embarrassed the poor thing again. “Um… they did try to tell me… I just… I don’t know…” She watches her girl flinch and dig her nails into her scar as she speaks. “Shit! Nevermind. I’ll just go back to breakfast…”
Alara grabs her arm as she starts to turn. You really think you’re getting away that easily? “You’ve already woken me up, darling - you may as well come inside. I’ll have them bring your food down if you’re still hungry.” She looks her girl over - pointedly enough for her to notice and shift nervously under Alara’s gaze. “I have a spare robe you can use until the stylists arrive.”
She leads Voltaea into the suite and shuts the door behind them - pointing her to the bathroom so she can pick herself a robe. “They’re on the rack next to the shower, you can take whichever you’d like.” Alara leaves her to her task - some part of her hoping she’ll be called in to rescue her girl from the bodysuit once again. She takes a seat on her sofa while she waits - flipping through the channels on the television until she finds one playing coverage of their arrival last night.
They’re absolutely the talk of the town - Voltaea’s bold look, stern features, and refusal to engage the cameras have driven the two talking heads on screen absolutely wild with excitement. Alara’s little stunt with her nails gets a mention too - speculation abound about what could have possibly prompted such a departure from her usual style. One suggests she could have taken up with a secret lover back in District Five. “There are rumors that she’s been with women over the years-” he says “- and you know, with the mechanics of that and all…” Those rumors are mostly true, of course, but I’ve never cared to soften myself for any of them. Still - she’s thrilled to see the seeds have been planted for her little plan.
Voltaea emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later wearing a black robe with silver threading that shows off every inch of her legs. It’s the first time she’s seen her hair down in full - she’s shocked her girl didn’t force it back up while she was changing. You’re even more beautiful in disarray. “Alara? Do you think I could try your shower? I feel kind of gross…”
Alara has to push her a bit further, but she can’t hide the amusement in her voice. “I mean, you can - but my sweet, you do realize there’s a shower in your suite right?”
“I’d have to walk by Orville again, and he’s too loud right now. It’s making my head hurt.” That’s just the hangover, darling. Alara rolls her eyes. She watches her girl stumble over her next words as they fall out of her lips. “And I don’t want to be alone, okay?”
Alara stands and strides towards the bathroom, grabbing her girl’s hand as she passes. “It’s a good thing I’m such excellent company, then.” Voltaea smiles at that. Good girl . “Come on - I’ll show you how it all works.” She spends a few minutes going over the temperature dials, where the soaps are, finding her a washcloth, and explaining the blow-dryer. Voltaea nods along intently, hanging on every word.
“I’ll get us something to wake up with - you just relax here for a bit.” She gives Voltaea’s hand a quick squeeze before heading back out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. Not the worst outcome to an early start, I suppose.
She makes her way back to the sofa and sprawls out, grabbing the phone receiver off its stand on the coffee table and dialing out to the one in the main lounge area. It rings twice before Orville picks up “Hello, this is Orville, can I direct your call?”
“No, but you can bring me two coffees and an explanation as to why I’ve been woken up so early.” She lets a little extra venom drip into her voice, just to get him moving.
“Oh! Alara, I apologize - I tried to explain to the girl that you don’t usually take guests until - “ she cuts him off, whatever else he has to say is irrelevant - At least he knows better.
“Nevermind, just bring the coffee - quickly - before my patience slips again.” she hangs up before he has a chance to reply. Her attention flits back to the news - they’re talking about District One’s tributes now, the talking heads going back and forth about which one is prettier, Cymbria or Marcelus. She yawns - dull - and flips through the channels until she lands on something covering Five again.
There's a knock at the door, and she rises to open it. Orville stands on the other side - carrying two coffees and an array of sugars, creamers, and flavorings on a tray balanced deftly on one of his chubby hands. He’s dressed in that hideous blue again - this time a dyed fur coat over a glittering vest with a white-jeweled bow-tie. “Your coffees“ He hands her the tray and she nods - it’s almost like thanks, except she doesn’t have to embarrass herself by saying it. “Do you need anything else? I’m just preparing everything for the stylists now - I think we have a new one this year - but I can grab whatever you need in the meantime.”
She waves him off. “Nothing, but call me when they arrive - I don’t want anyone else knocking this morning.” She shuts the door again before he can irritate her with more idle chatter. She brings the tray over to the table by the sofa and sets it down before wandering to her dresser to grab the box in the top drawer labeled “Recreational Medications”.
Alara flips the lid open and rummages through until she finds what she's looking for - a vial of pink powder for her girl, a vial of white for her - and takes them over to her seat. The pink is a bit weaker - beginner friendly - it’ll give her just the edge of focus she needs later. She uncorks the vial and scoops some out with one of her sharpened nails, tipping it into one of the coffees and stirring it around until the powder dissolves.
She cuts herself a line of the white - she’ll need all the help she can get today. After a moment of fumbling through the couch cushions for the straw she's certain she dropped in there - she finds it. It’s all ritual from there - sniff , head back, nose pinched, sniff again. The chemical drip in her throat numbs her as it runs - her heart races - her tremor rises - she can feel every light in the room get brighter as her mind perfects itself.
Voltaea emerges from the bathroom with the robe wrapped back around her just as she’s sucking a particularly nasty drip back - Fuck, you’re quicker than I thought. She’s dripping all over the carpet - clearly having failed to turn the blowers on to dry herself properly - hair still down and wild from the wetness. “Do you have a towel?”
“In the bottom drawer of the dresser - over there -” She points. Voltaea finds one and wraps it around her hair. Her girl makes her way over to where she’s sitting and slides into place at her side - without so much as a word this time. The vials are still out - she hadn’t meant for that to happen - perhaps some transparency, then? But how to even broach the subject… she thinks in silence.
Voltaea breaks the spell. “I want to make my last guess.”
She turns to look at her - confused. “About what, darling?”
Voltaea gestures to her tremor. “About that.”
Alara laughs - Cheeky, but I’ll bite. “Alright, what’s your guess?”
She reaches over and picks up the vial of drugs on the table - Alara resists the urge to rip it out of her hand. Don’t blow it by being greedy. “It’s this. A side effect. I noticed it when we were in your sleeper car - and now -” she gestures to her tremor again. “You took more - probably while I was in the shower. You’re shaking worse than when I got here.” Voltaea’s tone isn’t judgemental, really. Or even concerned. It’s assertive - like she’s just solved some kind of puzzle and wants to brag about how fucking smart she thinks she is. A huge grin forms on her face when she looks at Alara. “Does this mean I win?” No, you sweet, silly thing. You haven’t.
“Your guess is right, I’ll give you that.” She winks, points to the alarm clock on the nightstand. “But you still lose. I told you, you had till we got to the Capitol. We’ve been here eight hours now.”
“Oh come on, let me have this one -” Voltaea leans in and gives her a look of faux-sadness that she can’t help but laugh at.
“Darling, if I did, you’d never learn anything.” Alara brushes her girl’s hair behind her ear and watches her melt in response. “Timing is everything in this place. You might be the brightest there is, but if you don’t set off that flash of brilliance at just the right time -” she snaps her fingers pointedly. “It’ll burn right out.”
Voltaea nods, her brow furrowing in thought. “I wish I brought my notes from the train - I should write this down.”
“I’ll have Orville send his Avox down for it later. For now, you should have one of these -” she hands her girl the cup of coffee she dosed with the stims earlier.
Voltaea smells it - gags slightly. “It smells bitter, what is this?”
“Coffee - you can add cream and sugar if you need to mellow it out a bit.” she pauses, weighing her options before she speaks. “I’ve dosed it with a little something extra to help you focus.”
Her girl stiffens - stares at the drink in her hand - swirling it in circles and watching a whirlpool form at the center. She’s silent for what feels like eternity before she whispers. “Do you think it’s worth it? Will it help me win?”
Alara feels the warm embrace of winning wrap around her once more. She leans in to whisper back, directly in Voltaea’s ear. “Yes.” she retreats - her voice low - almost seductive. “But if you think you can’t handle it…”
“No! I can handle it -” There’s your competitive spirit! Voltaea takes a deep breath, plugs her nose with one hand - and drinks the whole thing back in one go.
Alara wraps an arm around her as she puts the cup down, leaning in so she can hear the pulse rising in her throat as the stims start to do their work. Voltaea leans in, drawn to the contact like a moth to a flame. Alara’s lips graze just below her ear. Voltaea gasps — soft, barely audible — it takes every ounce of restraint Alara has not to shatter right there. “Good girl.”