Chapter Text
Wired: Voltaea
Voltaea Amprole has never felt as alive as she does right now. The bassline beat of her heart is faster, stronger, off-kilter - th-thump-th-thump - but the focus - it’s like nothing she’s ever experienced. The static clears from her ears - replaced by a buzz of pure energy coursing through her - like she’s flipped a breaker in her nervous system she didn’t know was turned off. Every scattered thought in her throbbing head snaps itself into order - the pain subsides - her eyes widen. Since her accident, she’s lived in a constant haze of too much sound and not enough sleep - Alara’s gift, it seems, has taken that from her.
She feels Alara’s arm wrap over her shoulder and leans into the warmth of it - letting her touch ease the chill she’s felt since leaving the shower. The sound in the room fades away as her focus draws inward - until she can only hear the music between the two of them. Her own heartbeat - th-thump - the jagged edge of Alara’s breathing - the swish of silk-on-silk - the faint gasp that escapes her as Alara’s lips brush against her ear. Her mentor whispers then - that siren-song she can’t escape from - “ Good girl. ”.
This time, she doesn’t run from the heat - I don’t want to run anymore - she turns towards it. Alara’s emerald eyes pierce her own - right to the soul - Voltaea smiles. “I do feel good, actually. Better than ever.” her speech is pitchier to her ear - it flows more rapidly too - fluid, unburdened. “I see why you like this stuff - wow - I feel…” She reaches up to undo the towel tied around her head - too constricting - and lets her dampened hair fall to brush her shoulders. She tosses it over the back of the couch - “Better.”
Alara cocks her head to the side, a smirk still plastered across her face. Thinking. “I do see a new spark in your eyes, darling.” She takes her arm from around Voltaea’s shoulder and leans back. It makes Voltaea swear under her breath - not intended, she slaps a hand over her mouth like it’ll hold it back after the fact.
Her mentor laughs - her face fills with a familiar flush of heat. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want me close now?” Voltaea can practically taste the sarcasm dripping from Alara’s voice and burns even hotter in response. I’m such an idiot. “I seem to recall just last night you were telling me you couldn’t think with that sort of proximity. I need you sharp for today’s festivities, understand?”
“I…” she chokes on her words, her heart thundering too quickly in her throat. I DO want her close, that’s the problem. She considers spinning that thought into a lie, but it feels futile in the face of her mentor’s intense scrutiny. I know this is wrong. I know I shouldn’t want that. I just do. That doesn’t feel like the right approach either - too much like an apology, she’ll hate it. The drugs Alara gave her make her too present - too aware - too tuned-in to the gnawing urge in her gut, worse now that it was on the train. Shit.
Alara taps her nails impatiently on the coffee table - stare still burning through her. She tries to come up with some excuse, some reason, something other than acknowledging her own feelings to stay near the woman. “You can’t keep freezing under pressure like this, Voltaea. Just say what’s on your mind.” The voice practically vibrates through her, setting every hair on end like she’s carrying a static charge.
She moves to scratch at her scar but Alara catches her wrist - digging her sharpened nails into the pale flesh - she flinches. Breathes. Calm. Alara pulls away and starts the clicking of claws on the table again. When Voltaea finally works up the gall to speak, it’s not more than a whisper “I do want you close, but I don’t know how to explain why without ruining everything.”
Alara rolls her eyes - “How many times am I going to have to break through this insufferable insecurity of yours, hm?” Her voice sharpens, the snark is gone - replaced by a tone of growing frustration. “You seem to let your fear of judgement hold you back every time you’re about to get something you want - are you really going to carry that into the games with you? You think that’s a winning strategy?”
Voltaea tries to find a reply, but she can’t speak - her thoughts are racing too fast to catch up to. She’s shaking - she’s not sure if it’s the scrutiny or the stimulants. Alara’s voice rings out again - softened once more to its songlike state “Oh, come now, darling. There’s no need for tears.” Her mentor reaches out a finger to brush the droplet - I didn’t realize I was crying, shit. - from her cheek. Alara sighs, pats a spot on her upper thighs, “Lie down - let me take care of those nerves.”
She adjusts herself - throwing her legs over the arm of the sofa and leaning back so her head is resting in Alara’s lap. She chokes back a sob - her whole body feels strange - foreign - almost unreal. Then Alara runs her nails through her hair, across the skin - it’s electric - a pleasant shock that runs from her scalp down her spine and grounds her in the present. She looks up at her mentor - when she smiles back it feels like she has permission to breathe again. Still - all she can come up with to say is a faint “Thank you”.
“Don’t thank me, darling - you’re going to have to tell me what’s on your mind eventually. I detest mysteries.” Voltaea tenses - Alara’s voice is even softer in response. “Though, I suppose I’ll let you have the day without asking again. Can’t have you cracking in front of your competitors tonight.”
She’d nearly forgotten about tonight - as much time as she’d spent planning for the Games themselves, Alara had been right about her unpreparedness in facing a crowd. The pure, electric buzz coursing through her drags her mind back towards strategy. The stylists, to her knowledge, would take care of her look - but she still has to figure out how to approach both the Capitol and her fellow tributes before she steps onto that chariot. Her voice is hoarse from her brief fit of tears “So I’m just going to do what I did last night, right? Stay stiff, don’t speak, look scary…”
Alara nods “Yes, but…” she stops scratching for a moment. “What else did I tell you to do, do you remember?”
Voltaea has to dig through the mess of muddled memories from the night before - “Be unpredictable.”
“Precisely - now’s your time to make a big splash. Every eye in Panem will be on the parade tonight.” Alara starts up with her nails on Voltaea’s scalp once again - to her relief. “I want you to go out there and do something that really shocks them.”
A new puzzle to solve is exactly what she needs to wrap her head around to distract from the unbearable torrent of emotions that keep threatening her sense of stability. “Any suggestions?”
Alara chuckles, she’s more animated than before. “These people, they’re perpetually bored - life handed to them on a platter from the day they’re born. Who knows what’ll catch their attention? Leap off the chariot, take your shirt off - hells - light a man on fire if the mood strikes you!” Voltaea’s eyes widen in shock. “I’m joking, of course - relax.” Alara ruffles her hair with something that almost looks like affection in her eyes - the blood rushes straight to her cheeks in response. “Look, you’re a smart girl. You’ll find your opening - just don’t hesitate when you see it.”
She looks up at her mentor with renewed resolve “I promise - I won’t hesitate again.” New rule - Don’t apologize, don’t be humble, don’t show doubt - don’t hesitate.
“Good. I’ll hold you to that.” Alara starts to run her fingers through Voltaea’s hair, untangling the knots that formed in her sleep in a surprisingly painless fashion. “We still have a few hours before the prep teams arrive - shall we watch the arrivals from last night? Perhaps you’ll find some more insight on your competitors.”
Voltaea is too engrossed in the sensation of Alara’s hands on her to speak - but she gives her a half-hearted thumbs up in response. Her whole body is both relaxed and racing - it’s like everything just feels… more. The good, the bad - it’s like the drugs have turned up the volume on the whole world around her. Alara grabs the remote with her free hand, flipping to a channel of recorded broadcasts and scrolling down until she finds something covering District One from last night. “Here, we’ll start with them.”
Voltaea rolls her head to the side, careful not to dislodge her mentor’s deft fingers from her hair, and settles in to watch. The broadcasters are - by and large - completely unbearable to listen to. The two colorful, inhuman faces chattering on screen about their opinions in those infuriating Capitol accents about fashion trends and - “Oh how beautiful District One always is - blah blah.” - It bores her to the bone. She frowns, her words flying out of her mouth before she has a chance to censor herself “Alara, how do you stand being around these people all the time - living here, I mean? It’s all so shallow and fickle and irritating - are they just as annoying in person? Is it an act? Do you have to act like this on TV?”
Alara gets a laugh out of that. “Some of it’s an act. Some of it’s earnest idiocy. And frankly - they’re even more annoying in person.” She gestures to the room around them with her free hand. “But look at this place! I have this entire sanctuary all to myself, with any luxury I could imagine, any whim I want satisfied. All I have to do is snap my fingers and it’s here in minutes.” She snaps to punctuate the statement. “I’d rather suffer through a thousand pointless interviews with the vapid little freaks of the Capitol than ever go back to the Districts. What did I have there? Certainly nothing like this. Just a sky full of smog and skirts made from flour bags and a bunch of useless, broken people who despised me just because I had the gall to speak up ab…” she trails off, her eyes widening as her gaze shifts off into the distance. Voltaea feels the tremor rising in the hand Alara’s using to stroke her hair. I don’t think she meant to say all that. “Anyway…”
Voltaea frowns - the talking heads continue their banal banter on the television but the focus of her ire is Alara now. “Wait - you can’t just lecture me for hesitating and then do the same yourself! That’s not fair.”
Alara’s eyes snap back to her, one brow quirked quizzically upward. Her tremor has calmed a bit - her tone when she speaks now sickly-sweet and teasing. “Well, sweet girl , when you finally find the courage to reveal all your secrets - I’ll extend you the same courtesy.”
Voltaea rolls her eyes, but she can’t come up with a decent argument. There’s no way she’s telling Alara the thoughts she’s had in her presence. Like how I want to - STOP GOING THERE! Focus on the game! She relents - she’ll have to give her this one. “Fine. You win. For now.” She rolls back onto her side and tries to shift her thoughts back to what's happening on screen - avoiding the growing itch in her brain that seems to be encouraging her to do something regrettable.
Her mentor gives her head a condescending pat - she flushes - I hate that I like this . “I always do, darling. It’s a talent of mine.”
They watch without speaking for a while - the scritching of Alara’s nails on her scalp seems to lock in rhythm with the thumping of her heart. Calm . She runs a finger over the scar on her palm, but doesn’t dig into it this time, instead shifting her head back - deepening her contact with her mentor’s claws. Collected. She starts to swing her legs back and forth over the arm of the couch - to quell the unrelenting urge to move that the drugs seem to give her. Controlled.
They spend what seems like hours watching the procession of future-dead disembarking the train - Voltaea doing her best to tune out the irksome commentators who keep cropping up to speculate uselessly about their merits. Alara skips the video for their own District - “I don’t want you getting worked up about what they think of you, darling.” She doesn’t argue - I was there, I’ve seen it already.
She's made a few useful observations, at least. The boy from Four - she learns his name is Mako, and he is just as vapid and camera-hungry as Marcelus from One had been - useless . Raila from Six still seems sickly, coughing her way through the crowd - so the vomit wasn’t nerves, she’s actually ill. Sarah from Seven carries herself with feral confidence, making wild noises whenever someone tries to ask her a question to a response of cheers - She’s funny. In another lifetime I’d like to be her friend . The twins from Eight have the sound cut from their feed - profanity filter, says the talking head - it seems like the girl is yelling as they walk hand in hand down the platform - Keep making yourself a bigger target, why don’t you? She catches her first glimpse of the tributes from Twelve - both still caked in coal dust - towards the end of the videos. Haymitch follows behind them and nearly faceplants into a reporter as he stumbles drunkenly around - I don’t think he’ll ever produce a victor in that state.
“Did you get anything out of that, my sweet?” The purr of Alara’s voice drags her back out of her flow just before the last video ends with the girl from Twelve trying to hold up her mentor as they walk down the stairs to the tunnel.
“Some, but I’ll get a better read on them during training.” Voltaea sits up, stretching back out as she speaks. “I think if I can - “ She’s interrupted by a knock at the door.
Alara stands up in a flash “I told him not to fucking knock again.” She swears under her breath a few more times as she stalks to the door. Voltaea shifts herself to get a better look as she opens it. “Orville! What part of ‘call first’ did you not understand?”
Orville stands there stunned, the color draining from his face as Alara flares at him. “I… I’m sorry, I forgot - The stylists - I was so surprised to see who it was, and he was so insistent. It slipped my mind.” He stammers.
“We’ll be down shortly.” Alara shuts the door in his face - spinning on her heels to walk to the dresser at the corner of the room. She fumbles through the top drawer for a minute, pulling out a box and shifting through its contents. She produces a small, sealed pouch - prying it open with her nails while she returns to the sofa. “Stand up, darling.”
Voltaea leaps to her feet, slightly dizzy - not quite ready for whatever is coming. Alara pulls something that looks like a square adhesive bandage from the pack. “I’m going to put this on your back - it’ll help you keep that focus going through the parade, at least.”
She hesitates - her heart is still off-kilter from whatever Alara gave her last time. “Um… what is it?”
“It’s similar to what I gave you earlier - just in an extended release patch.” Alara reaches for the shoulder of her robe and tugs it down - Voltaea pulls back.
“Wait, should I be taking more of that so soon? Is that safe?” Alara scowls in response.
“Don’t be stupid - I’m not in the business of killing my own tributes.” She rips the patch off its backing and slaps it on the back of Voltaea’s exposed shoulder blade before she has a chance to protest. Her gaze shifts to her neck. Voltaea opens her mouth to say something but Alara beats her to it - changing the subject entirely. “Are you really still wearing that?”
Ohma’s necklace. It’s been such a part of her for so long that she doesn’t really think about it being there until Alara points it out. “Yeah... It’s all I have of my sister here, I don’t want to take it off.” She feels the bassline in her chest speed up - th-thump - an itch creeps into the back of her teeth as she speaks. “I don’t think I should have this patc-”
Alara cuts her off - softening her voice to silk once more. “Darling, the stylists are going to strip everything from you in the next few hours - why don’t you put your little trinket somewhere safe for now, or they’re apt to break it.”
“Alright, alright - I get it.” Voltaea reaches up to undo the clasp on the back and pulls it off, flipping it around in her hands aimlessly - her chest tightens painfully as she runs her fingertips across the wrapped-wire lightning bolt. I’m sorry Ohma, I promise I’ll put it back on later. She’s still looking around for a safe place to pull it when she feels Alara tugging at her arm - shocking her back to reality.
“Time to go -” Voltaea slips the necklace onto the coffee table as they pass it. I promise I won't forget. Her silent platitude does nothing to calm the churning in her chest. As she locks step with her mentor to leave, Alara wraps an arm around her waist to guide her towards the lounge. This time, she drapes her own over her mentor’s shoulder in response - Don’t hesitate?
She hears the styling team before she sees them - they’re chattering loudly among themselves in thick Capitol accents that Voltaea can barely decipher. At the center of the room, talking to a nervous-looking Orville, stands a short man in a violently-glittering outfit that Voltaea can barely stand to look at. Alara throws her head back - curls brushing against Voltaea’s arm in a way that makes every nerve blaze in unison. She lets out a sharp, short laugh when she sees him. “HA! You’re kidding - this is the stylist this year? Orville, you should have told me!”
The man coated in hideous glitter spins around with a scowl on his face to look at them, Orville chirps in response. “Alara, this is Pontius - you remember the outfits he made for Distr-”
“Oh-ho, I remember. Tell me -” She gives Voltaea’s waist a squeeze as she speaks. “What did you do to set off Selica so badly that you got sent here of all places?” The man’s face turns beet-red as he shakes with rage - This guy has no composure.
“I do not know where you get your intel from, Alara Vox - ” His accent is more flourished - pompous than the others she’s heard. “- But I have chosen to be here - it is my vision! Nothing to do with your petty Victor friends!” He flicks his hand dismissively in Alara’s direction. He’s overcompensating. Alara laughs mockingly as the prep team bustles around in the background pretending not to listen.
Alara pulls Voltaea to face her - standing up on her toes to whisper in her ear. “He’s harmless - Probably still mad that Selica dumped him after last year’s Games. She bores easily.” She pulls back and winks. Voltaea can’t be bothered to hide the grin on her face. That explains a lot.
Pontius has busied himself once more with barking orders at his assistants - pointedly ignoring the two of them. A woman with bright yellow hair, spiked in all directions like she’s been shocked, has pulled Coulomb from wherever he was hiding and propped him up in a styling chair. She’s chatting away about how adorable she thinks he is, half to him, half to her partner. The boy is grinning ear to ear, clearly relishing the sudden burst of attention - he seems happy, at least. He gives Voltaea a wave when he sees her, then points to their glittering stylist and makes a gagging motion. She has to stifle a laugh, but nods in agreement with a smile on her face.
Alara reaches up her softer-tipped hand to cup Voltaea’s chin - tilting her face back to her own. “I have to go for now, my sweet - but I’ll be right back here to meet you after the parade is over, alright?”
“Wait - no, what? Where are you going? I thought you were coming with me?” Her heart thunders into her throat again - drowning out the voices in the room with its offbeat th-thumping . This wasn’t my plan.
Alara shakes her head, stroking Voltaea’s cheek gently as she speaks, “Darling, The Crimson Cut airs live this time of year - and it wouldn’t be the same without me, would it? I’ll be just downstairs - we shoot from a studio on the third floor.” Voltaea feels her whole body go tense. I don’t want you to go. Alara must sense this because she softens her tone even further - “If you really need to hear from me, Orville will teach you how to call down, alright?”
“I mean… okay… I’ll be okay.” She tries to mean that when she says it, but her stomach is doing flips already in anticipation of her absence.
“Good, because it’s going to take hours for my stylists to clean up this mess -” She twirls, gesturing to herself - her silk robe swishing dramatically. “- I really do have to go.” She reaches out to give Voltaea’s hand a last squeeze, dropping her voice to a low, growling whisper - “Don’t miss me too much, darling.” No promises.
Voltaea watches her glide across the lounge to the entrance of the suite, turning over her shoulder one last time to give her a knowing wink before disappearing into the elevator hall. When she looks back at the prep team - half of them have to whip their heads around to hide their stares. What? Don’t you have jobs to do? Her eyes fall back to the glittering idiot, now walking up to her with his chest puffed out like a bird.
“You. Come with me -” He grabs her arm like he owns her and she jerks it away - suppressing the urge to slap him in response. He glares at her. “Insolent. You have no idea who I -”
She cuts him off - no hesitation - giving him the iciest stare she can muster. Her voice is a low growl she barely recognizes. “Don’t ever grab me like that again.” She brushes straight past Pontius - still standing there stunned and stuttering - making her way to the empty styling chair she spots at the opposite side of the room. One of the assistants - a man with bright green hair and a snakelike face - takes up position in front of her.
He reaches out a hand with tattooed scales to shake hers - she takes the offer. He speaks softly enough that his boss can’t hear. “I’m Anton, I’m going to be working on you while Pontius soothes his bruised ego.” Voltaea smiles at that - this one is okay. “Alright, painful stuff first - we’re going to have to wax those eyebrows… and, ugh, your poor legs will need it too by the looks of it.”
Voltaea shrugs at him. “I don’t know what that means, but I’d rather you do it than him - go for it.” She leans back in the chair and lets Anton busy himself over her - his voice is lispy, but not terrible to listen to as he chatters away about her bone structure and Pontius’s grand vision. It goes largely unheard - her focus more on the new sensation of hot wax on her skin. He’s right about that part of the process - it does hurt - the schk sound of the wax strips being pulled off of her gives her a rhythm to focus on at least. She grits her teeth through the process. Alara probably does this every day - I can deal with it for one.
Next is makeup - she’s at least had some experience with this part from last night. Anton rests a hand on her leg for a moment - it shocks her back into focus. “Sorry, I know you’re nervous, but I have to ask you to stop shifting your legs around - I don’t wanna make a mess of your face and it’s making your whole body move.” She hadn’t noticed herself twitching - she opts not to mention that it's less about the nerves and more about the patch on her back that makes her itch every time she stops moving.
Voltaea does her very best to keep still while the snakelike man goes back to work - he has to remind her several more times to keep herself at rest throughout the process. When he’s finally satisfied, he holds up a mirror to her face - “There - you’re gorgeous! Electrifying - or that’s the idea we’re going for anyway.”
It is, actually, quite electrifying to look at - she barely recognizes herself. Her eyebrows are a bit thinner, pointed in a way that makes her look effortlessly stern at all times - Alara will like that. Anton has gone with a shimmering dark grey, stormy-looking eyeshadow on top of a very sharp, dark liner - tiny lightning bolts painted at each corner of her eyes. He’s done something with the powders he applied to her face that makes every bone look more prominent - angular - more like a stylized painting than a person. Her eyes drift to her still-messy, untied hair and she frowns. “When you do my hair, can you put it up? I can’t stand it when it touches my face like this.”
Anton nods “I was thinking we’d do something similar to what you had at your arrival - loved the look, by the way, you two were a real hit on the morning shows - we’re just gonna shake it up a bit! We’ll give it a little shimmer, a little flair…” He spins around to grab his hair kit from a nearby rolling table and Voltaea tunes him out again - letting the sound of his voice blend into the bassline of her heart and the chattering chorus of Captiol accents in the background.
He seems to understand her methods for controlling the mess of her hair without her having to explain them. She relishes the familiar tugging at her temples as he gathers it into a bun at the back. There’s a faint hiss that tickles her eardrums as he sprays her hair down with something that smells like ozone and flowers. She lets him work, resigned to the process at this point. When he finishes, he brings the mirror back again. “What do you think?”
She has to admit - he’s done exactly what he said he would. Her hair is in the same familiar bun, but Anton has added a shimmering glitter to every strand that catches in the light like sparks. The tie holding her hair in place even has lightning details to match the pattern he put on her eyes. It’s flashy, but not so much that it overwhelms her senses like some of the other styles she’s seen today. “It’s perfect.” She means it.
Anton claps his hands excitedly “Yes! I’m so glad you like it - you’re gonna stun the whole city tonight!” He looks around for a moment then leans in to whisper again “I have to give you to the boss in a minute - I think he’s nearly done with the boy - but don’t worry. He’s all bark, just let him do his thing and you’ll be out of here in no time.”
“Thank you… you’re good at what you do.” Voltaea gives the snakelike man a kind smile, it’s about all she can muster right now in such an overstimulated state.
“Tell your… ah… mentor that, will you? I’m on the hunt for a new job, you know, and her show always seems to need a fresh stylist.” He shifts uncomfortably for a moment, looking around the room to make sure Pontius hasn’t heard his insubordination.
“I’ll pass it along.” Anton gives her a small bow and a knowing wink before skittering off - calling out for Pontius to let him know she’s ready for wardrobe.
The glittering idiot finally makes his appearance after a few minutes of waiting, carrying a stylized set of navy-blue coveralls and leather boots with him. “You - put this on, I’ll come back to complete my vision when you are dressed.” This outfit, to her relief, is far easier than last night’s to put on without help.
She takes a mirror off a nearby table to examine herself - the outfit looks to her like a fancier version of what she wears to work back home. It doesn’t exactly scream ‘Capitol high fashion’ - I don’t know if this is striking enough to really make an impact. Voltaea gives herself one more look-over before stepping out from behind the divider to find Pontius once more.
He’s fitting Coulomb - who’s now dressed in a smaller, matching outfit - with some kind of backpack made of a mess of metal, wires, and lights. As she approaches, she hears a faint, familiar whine of electricity coming from the pack. He hands Coulomb a set of gloves with circular metal plates on the palms that he slides on, then takes several wires from the pack and plugs them into the gloves and his bodysuit.
She sees the vision Pontius keeps rambling about when he flips a switch on the pack and the suit hums to life - crackling electrical patterns light up across the surface. “Now, clap your hands together quickly, then pull them apart as far as you can -” Coulomb obliges the glittering idiot - and the results are striking . A huge bolt of what looks like lightning sparks between the plates on his hands a few seconds after he claps - crackling - the boy’s eyes light up and a huge grin forms on his face when he does. He repeats this a few more times, moving his hands to different positions to change the pattern of the bolt - a muted crack each time he does - like thunder heard from far away.
Voltaea has to admit - to herself, not the idiot - that it’s a neat trick. Pontius actually smiles at the boy - it’s the first time he’s wiped the scowl from his face since Alara left. “Beautiful! Industrial-chic is going to be very in after tonight - you look like pure power, little one. Just be careful not to get too close to anyone with those sparks. Or to touch them with bare skin. Or to grab anything conductive.” He pauses, thinking. “To be safe, perhaps don’t touch anything at all - I assure you it will be fine. Possibly.”
Did this moron make an outfit that’s going to blow us up? Her brief anxiety is quickly replaced by pure curiosity about what exactly makes these things work. I’ll have plenty of time to look it over on our way to the parade. An idea starts to form in her mind - This could be the spark of brilliance Alara was talking about - literally - I just have to find the right time to use it. She clears her throat to get the stylist’s attention - “My turn.”