Chapter Text
Parade Night: Alara
Alara Vox bursts through the doors to the Crimson Cut studio wearing nothing but a silk bathrobe and a confident smirk. The place is already bustling with stylists and stagehands readying the set and its inhabitants for tonight’s broadcast. She projects her voice above the chatter - Time to take the stage - “Happy Hunger Games, darlings! The fun has finally arrived!”
“Alara dear, I see you’ve decided to show up over-deadline and under-dressed - as always .” Selica Vireaux sits perched on the edge of a stool in front of a brightly-lit vanity in the corner, smoking a thin cigarette from an ornate golden extender. A stylist stands behind her trying to tame her blonde hair into a spiraling updo. She’s already crammed herself into a flamboyant, fuschia, fur-trimmed pant-suit with far too many jeweled accessories for Alara’s taste. Of course you’re camera ready, you never have anything better to do. She bites back the urge to say something snappy.
“I’m shocked she’s here before noon, it’s a Game’s season miracle.” Alara whirls around to see Ismene Lux - dressed like she’s headlining a funeral, of course - sprawled out on a spare sofa from last year’s set in the corner, gesturing dramatically with a half-drunk bottle in hand. ”Are you finally learning some responsibility in your old age?” Her slow, drawling voice sets Alara’s teeth on edge.
“Oh, fuck off, Ismene. Go cry into your wine some more, why don’t you?” Alara flips her clawed middle finger at the woman on the sofa. She gasps performatively in response, but Alara can still see the smirk on her smug face.
“Ladies, play nicely - we have far too much work today for this sort of nonsense. You’ll have all the time in the world to bicker once we’re on air.” Selica hands her cigarette off to a nearby assistant as she speaks. “Lucien, be a dear and put that out for me - and bring another copy of the tribute dossiers.” She turns back to face Alara. “You can read them over while you’re in hair and makeup. We’ve been discussing some of our early favorites in the mix, but I want your take on them before we go live.”
Alara glides over to the stool next to Selica and takes her place - a team of stylists already swirling around her to set up their kits. “I’ll look them over for you, but it’s pointless - this year is mine for the taking.”
“Bold words for a woman who hasn’t won anything in two decades!” Ismene calls from across the studio - Alara ignores her. We’ll see how funny you think it is when Voltaea gets ahold of your little rats.
The assistant returns with a datapad and hands it to Alara. She flips through the files while a stylist goes to work taming her curls into something presentable - largely skimming - she’s never been one to trust the Capitol’s assessments over her own observations. She stops for a moment on Voltaea’s file - it has her birthday listed as coming up a week from today. You cheeky thing, you didn’t tell me you’d be celebrating in the arena. I’ll have to remember to send something extra special in the sponsor drops that day. The rest of the details are unremarkable - things they’d already discussed or that she’s observed in their time together.
Suddenly, Selica reaches out and grabs ahold of her hand – she drops her voice low enough that Ismene can’t hear over the chatter of the room. “You know I saw this in the morning tabloids but I didn’t believe it until now - what on earth have you done with your nails?”
Alara yanks her hand back and shakes her head, smirking all the while - “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Selica grabs another cigarette out of the pack on the vanity and lights it as she speaks - “It’s the first time I’ve seen you declawed in twenty years. You can’t expect me not to ask.”
She shrugs in response - “Really, Selica - there’s nothing to tell… yet . Though I’m sure with the way news travels around here that you’ll have your answers once there is.” Her stylist spins her around in the stool so she can see her hair in the mirror and Alara gives him a muted nod of approval. He scampers off to find a makeup artist to take over. “Besides, I’m still mad you sent your discarded scraps of a stylist to my suite without so much as a warning. Was the sex really so bad?”
“Ugh, the boy was obsessive. I tried to tell him I wasn’t looking for a fifth divorce right now, but he was so insistent he’d be different that I couldn’t take it anymore.” Selica coughs heavily on a particularly large drag of her cigarette. “And he is talented - you can’t deny that. I figured you’d get at least some use out of him.”
“Fair point - I did love those heels he came up with for last year’s opening ceremonies. I have a pair in my closet.” Alara tilts her head back as the makeup girl starts in on her face.
Selica sighs heavily. “I suppose I’ll let you have your secrets for now. Anyway -” she spins around on her stool to flip through her own datapad sitting on the vanity. “- I’m sending you our itinerary for tonight. We’ve got exclusive camera coverage in the staging area this year, courtesy of yours truly. My hope is we catch some of that juicy backstage drama when they all meet for the first time, should make for excellent ratings…”
Alara lets her eyes drift shut as Selica babbles on about her vision for the evening - As if we ever stick to the plan on parade night . She nods along, giving her friend a few non-committal responses to keep the suspicion off. Once the makeup girl has finally finished prodding at her she drags herself back to the present moment.
Selica is still chatting away - “...the word on the street is that Nine has a new stylist this year as well, so we’ll want to keep a critical eye there…” I couldn’t be less interested, darling. Alara rises from her seat and strips off her robe, tossing it over the back of the stool.
“Wardrobe!” She turns back to Selica as a group of stylists chatting in the corner snap to attention, wheeling over a rack of clothes to her side. “Sorry, you were saying?”
“Nevermind, Alara dear - I can tell when you’re humoring me by pretending to listen. The important bits are on your datapad, anyway.” Selica flicks her hand dismissively. “I do still want to go over your takes on this year’s contenders.”
Alara nods to a stylist holding up a red, floor-length gown with a pronounced slit up the left leg. “I told you already - none of that matters. It’s my girl who’s going to leave with the crown.”
Selica laughs - “Is that your whole angle this year? Win the sponsors over with sheer bravado?”
Alara steps into the dress that the wardrobe tech holds in front of her. She can’t hide the edge of frustration in her voice, “No - she’s going to win them over by being absolutely fucking brilliant. Not that I’d expect you to know what that looks like.”
“If I didn’t know you better, I’d think you might like this girl. You must see something in her if you’re getting all worked up like this.” Alara hadn’t noticed Ismene floating around behind her like a haunted doll until she spoke - she nearly elbows the stylist helping her into her outfit. “Do you really think she has what it takes, or is this some kind of new coping mechanism for your terrible mentoring skills?”
Alara pulls herself away from the stylist - half-zipped into her dress - and slides inches away from Ismene’s smug face. She plants a clawed finger right into the center of her cohost’s chest. “Don’t insult my intelligence like that again - unless you want to find out personally how I won my games.”
Selica’s voice calls out - all traces of her accent gone in favor of a sterner tone - “Ismene - stop antagonizing her, you know how worked up she gets during Game’s season. And Alara - claws down! I don’t want blood on my carpets!” Alara backs down with another rude gesture flung over her shoulder at Ismene as she returns to her shaken-looking stylist to finish dressing. Selica sighs and smooths her voice back into polished form “I swear on Snow - I’ve seen rabid mutts with more impulse control than the two of you.”
Alara chooses not to grace that with a response, instead fuming in silence while the wardrobe tech finishes dressing her. She spins for herself in a nearby mirror - perfectly presentable - and stalks over to the couch at the center of the set to sprawl out and calm her nerves.
“Good, we’re all ready then -” Selica isn’t going to give them a single second to relax - I should know better by now. “We have until five before we go live. Let’s run through the new intro from the top…”
The next several hours are a blur of set adjustments, sound checks, and half-baked rehearsals that Alara knows will fly right out the window as soon as the parade starts. Her head starts throbbing from the lack of stims - thank the Gods Ismene keeps a whole pharmacy in her purse. She slips a dose out of it while her cohosts are distracted by the arrival of the dinner cart at thirty minutes to showtime - just pills, no time to powder them - and pops them with a glass of wine. If Voltaea wasn’t such a lovely distraction, I’d have remembered to bring my own. We can blame this one on her.
The caterers start to spread the trays out artfully across a table at the far end of the studio - Alara doesn’t budge. Her stomach is too tight right now to even think about eating. Her mind keeps wandering back to what her girl is doing right now - I hope Pontius put you in something striking, my sweet - I’d hate to have to hit someone today. Her nerves come to life again as the pills start to do their work - Calm . The pounding in her head recedes - Collected. She feels the irritation melting off of her with every passing minute as the world falls into place around her - Controlled.
Selica takes her position at the center of the sofa at ten minutes to showtime - Alara to the left, Ismene to the right. “Final checks, everyone - I want everything perfect!” Ismene starts singing some pathetically sad tune into her mic - a sound test, she says - more like an excuse for melodrama. Alara adjusts her hair for a final time using a mirrored compact. Selica barks orders to the lighting and camera teams who scramble to align everything with her vision. Everything is as it should be, then. The material of her dress suddenly feels too tight - her breath catches in her throat. Relax, keep your head on straight, trust that you’ve given her the tools to shine.
The screen behind them flashes to life - several smaller ones off camera in front of them show the same image of their logo. The theme music starts to blare around them from every speaker in the studio and Alara feels her whole body snap to attention. She plasters a feral grin across her face and strategically positions herself in a half-poised, half-casual pose - Not too put together, find that balance. The logo cuts away as the theme music ends - to a feed from a camera drone floating its way down to the staging area of the tribute parade.
Selica has fully become her stage persona - she calls out just as they’ve practiced, her accent somehow even more performative than before. “Good evening Panem, I hope you’re all ready to celebrate because tonight marks the opening of the 60th Annual Hunger Games!” The sound tech sets off a fake, cheering crowd from the speakers. “As always, I’m your host, Selica Vireaux - here with my very spirited cohosts; Alara Vox and Ismene Lux!” The faux-cheers ring in again, twice as animated this time. “Tonight we have a special treat - I’ve personally pulled some strings and gotten us first-of-its-kind backstage access to the staging area. Our camera drone is heading there now - I hope you’re all ready to meet this year's contenders!”
“Frankly, darling, I’m more curious about who you had to blow to get us this access -” The sound techs pipe in a gasp and a laugh track in response to Alara’s jab - it’s always the gasp that lets her know she’s in proper form.
“Alara dear, you know I don’t kiss and tell-” Selica breezes right by her insult, as they’ve practiced.
“Those four televised divorces beg to differ.” Ismene rolls her eyes and crosses her arms at the other end of the couch, trying to look insulted at Alara’s rebuttal to their host. She’s doing a terrible job of it.
Selica chimes in once more, ignoring her barb - “It looks like our cameras are in range - we’re coming up from the rear entrance now!” They watch as the drone floats its way into the staging area, catching its first glimpses of the tributes in full regalia.
“What a shame we’ll have to say goodbye to most of them so soon.” Ismene lets a single tear run down her cheek as she drawls - I don’t know how she does that.
Selica hands Ismene a tissue from a gilded box on the table in front of them and continues with her chattering “It looks like District Twelve is going with - ugh - more coal mining uniforms. I swear, I’ve been hoping they’d drop that motif since they fired Magno -”
“It’s been ten years since then, Selica, they’re never going to change that look.” The two tributes from Twelve have already mounted their chariot, both looking ragged and terrified in their mining uniforms - but refusing to look at each other. Alara’s eyes scan the area as she speaks - she’s really only here to see one of them tonight.
“Oh!” Ismene gasps, clasps her hand over her face “Would you look at how beautiful they made my twins! The way those robes catch off the light is just gorgeous -” Alara notices the two standing off to the side of a chariot near the back, chatting with both tributes from 11 and the girl from 9. She has to stop herself from digging her claws into her thighs - too much sudden tension. Those little shits better not be making allies already.
“Gods, what is Marcelus up to now? That boy has tried to flirt with every person we’ve seen since we got to the Capitol. Cymbria threatened to stab him if he tried that with her again - I couldn’t be more proud of them both! What a show!” Selica blabbers away while her peacock boy struts up to the girl from 7 - Sarah something-or-other - and watches him try to blow a kiss in her direction. He’s wearing a ridiculous cape that swishes behind him with every swagger. Gross. Sarah leans inches away from his face and laughs - short, sharp, and striking. Good for her.
Marcelus shrugs, wandering back towards the front of the chariot line until he sees - “There she is!” Alara cuts in, she’s spotted her girl - and her outfit is… wild to say the least. She’s not sure what to make of it - it’s part-work uniform, part-high fashion, part-mechanical nightmare to look at. She sees Coulomb in a similar, smaller version of the outfit already standing up on the chariot - watching Marcelus approach Voltaea with the same confident swagger he’d tried to use on Sarah. “To the audience at home who is as-of-yet unaware, you’re getting your first look at our future victor -”
Ismene interrupts with the smuggest tone she can muster -“- Alara that confidence of yours is going to get h-”
“And what exactly is your boy trying to do, Selica?” she cuts her off right back as she sees Marcelus lean in to whisper something in Voltaea’s ear. “He’s playing a very dangerous game out there tonight.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t think he understands the meaning of subtlety - we can be sure of that.” Selica leans forward in her seat as if it’ll make the audio any clearer - they can’t hear a thing he’s whispering.
Voltaea shoots the boy a glare so sharp it could puncture the wall behind him. She leans in to whisper something back that makes his face drop and the color wash from his cheeks like he’s seen a corpse. He turns away, the mics pick up the latter half of what he says “- bitch.” His cape swings dramatically behind him.
Without warning, Voltaea claps her hands over the cape as it swings through the air, pulling them apart as a violent flash erupts from between her palms. Voltaea, darling, I didn’t mean for you to take my words quite so literally. The fabric of the cloak catches fire, smoke billowing from the place where sparks hit. A chorus of screams and laughter erupt from the staging area and she hears Ismene squeal from the other end of the couch with excitement. “Oh my!”
The Peacekeepers are on them within seconds - quickly separating the two and untangling Marcelus from the now flaming cape as he swears profusely. They thrust Voltaea onto the chariot - two of the white-uniformed officers standing guard next to it on the off-chance she decides to go back for round two. They’re yelling something indecipherable to her - her girl’s face is set in stone, staring straight ahead - no reaction. Gods - I couldn’t have done it better myself.
Alara lets out a maniacal cackle that rings out through the studio - “That’s my girl!” She claps, Selica’s face drops in horror. “That right there is what talent looks like!”
Selica shakes her head “They’re going to have to rewrite the whole rulebook on styling because of this, you know?”
“Good! Call it the Amprole Amendment, let them all remember!” She claps a hand on Selica’s shoulder “Sorry for your loss in advance, darling, but my girl just drew first blood before the fighting even started!”
Ismene laughs softly from her corner - “And here I was doubting you - you didn’t tell me she was such a firebrand.”
The Peacekeepers are directing all of the tributes to mount their chariots now - it doesn’t seem like there’ll be any more room for interruptions or alliance-making today. “Alright, we’re going to cut to com-” Selica chimes in once more, her voice shakier than usual. Alara jumps in before she can stop the feed.
“Before we go to commercial, I have a message for all our lovely, undecided sponsors out there!” She turns to the camera - “I hope you’re all taking notes tonight, because District Five’s Voltaea Amprole just wrote her entry in Hunger Games history!”