Chapter Text
Triumph?: Voltaea
The overhead lights feel like they’re turned up even brighter than usual - Voltaea blinks a few times as she walks out onto the training floor to get her eyes adjusted. Not too much, don’t look scared - back straight, look forward. The room sings a different song now - no buzzing of tributes in the background, just the faint chatter of the Gamemasters on the balcony overhead and the omnipresent hum of fluorescent lights and mental static. Everything has worked out so far for her today, at least. This morning when Alara had asked her about her plans she’d successfully dodged the question and gotten out of there without a fight - no small feat, she’s persistent. A deliberate play on her end to get her mentor worked up enough to be honest with her about her confession the night prior - It seems like she’s more open when she’s not thinking straight… and she really, really hates secrets. This should work. I think. Not telling her allies was just insurance - in case she’s listening, somehow.
When she reaches the center of the room, she stops. Calm. Deep breath in, shoulders back - she looks up at the balcony with the most disinterested expression she can muster. Collected. When the most elaborately-dressed man on the balcony addresses her - the head Gamemaker, she assumes - she doesn’t move an inch. Controlled. You have your plan, Voltaea, just stick to it. Don’t blow this. The stimulant patch is keeping her sharp, but it also makes her clench her teeth too hard - she hopes no one notices.
The man flicks on a microphone attached to the lapel of his suit and speakers crackle to life overhead - “District Five, Voltaea Amprole.” It’s not really phrased like a question, but she still nods. “You will have fifteen minutes to demonstrate your chosen skill. Once your time is up, you will exit via the elevator and return to your District’s floor to await the announcement that private training has finished. Do you understand?” She nods again - does anyone ever not? “Your time starts now.” Shit. Focus.
Voltaea dashes for the trap making station - Sarah was right about me being predictable, but I’m not about to waste this chance to show them what I can really do. There’s no instructor there today to help her find parts, but she’s almost certain she’ll have everything she needs there - she’d been there enough over the last couple days to get a good feel for what was available. She starts frantically throwing everything she needs together - every second counts if she’s going to get this built in time. Pliers, screws, cutters, tape, wire, glass - no wait - this sharp scrap might work better, magnets, I could attach the battery if I have time? Oh yeah! I’ll need a crosshead screwdriver - and - “Where the fuck is that screwdriver!?”. It wasn’t something she meant to say aloud and she’d practically screamed it - not that it seemed to phase the Gamemakers at all. She spared a quick glance up at them that confirmed they’d ignored her outburst in favor of boredly looking her over - waiting for me to do something. Work faster. Find the screwdriver.
No amount of speed drugs or internal screaming makes the screwdriver appear any faster. There! - She spots a familiar handle in a toolbox and yanks it out only to realize it’s a flathead screwdriver. “NO!” It flies across the room and clatters on the tile at the other end. Useless, useless, useless, WHERE IS THAT SCREWDRIVER?! Every inch of her tenses, every ounce of control she’d gathered falls away - this is NOT the plan.
“Ten minutes.” The man sounds bored when he makes the announcement - MOVE FASTER! She opens the last toolbox she hasn’t checked yet - throwing back the lid and sending tools scattering across the floor as the whole thing goes off-balance and falls with a loud THUMP. The scream that escapes her lips after is raw and blood-curdling - she stops dead and throws her head back without thinking to let it fly. Embarrassment. Worthless. What am I even doing out here?! I can’t even find the right screwdriver?!
A smoke-tinged song slices through her thoughts - “Darling, you wasted all this energy keeping secrets just to give us THIS dreadful performance? And here I thought you were a VICTOR.” Alara’s voice appears once again where it shouldn’t - no, COULDN’T - be to chastise her like it had in training the day prior. Is this how I’m comforting myself now? Gods, I’m - “Voltaea! What have I told you about talking so much? Get to work! I’ve already given you every tool you need!”
Every tool I need? Voltaea almost laughs aloud - Did you forget the crosshead screwdriver? There’s no answer, just the sharp static that always buzzes too strongly in her left ear. FOCUS! A deep breath in - then out. Voltaea looks around the mess she’s made, trying to think of how to salvage the situation with some mysterious tool Alara had given her. What should I do? I’ve already ruined my idea, how do I even perform here? Wait - perform! When they’d first met, Alara had asked her if she’d given any thought to what sort of persona she was going to use to win the hearts of the Capitol - something she didn’t have an answer to at the time. Alara, however, did have one trait she’d suggested that Voltaea try to embody when it came up - “Unpredictability. They’ll expect you to always keep a clear head - don’t. Find your moment and do something truly unexpected.”
I was predictable, that’s where I went wrong. Out of the corner of her eye she spots a long, heavy, metal pipe among the scattered materials. I won’t make that mistake again. She grabs it, flipping it around in her hands to get a feel for the weight and adjusting her grip. I wasted too much time - I’ll just have to make the rest count. There’s a brief, blissful moment near-quiet in the room, then - CRASH! Voltaea slams the pipe into the toolbox in front of her, splaying the rest of the contents across the tile. No hesitating - she sweeps everything off the workbench then brings the pipe down in the middle with a deafening CLANG that dents the metal.
There’s no more idle chatter coming from the platform above - good, they’re watching, at least. She doesn’t spare so much as a glance at them this time, just scans the room looking for - there! The weapon racks near where she’d fought Cymbria glisten off the lights as she sprints towards them, brandishing the pipe in front of her wildly - SMASH! Weapons fly from the rack as she swings the pipe with as much force as she can muster and she throws it to the side - need something that swings better. A club - more aerodynamic than the pipe, at least - she grabs it off the floor and darts off towards the firemaking station. A hail of woodchips, a flurry of tinder - then she smashes the plastic table and it cracks into pieces. Every swing, every crash, every satisfying thunk of connection reverberating through her hands when she hits something sends a shiver up her spine. She thought the stims gave her an edge, it’s nothing compared to how the adrenaline makes her burn - pure, relentless, deadly energy.
A row of training dummies beckons her - she charges, club overhead, bringing it slamming down into the skull of the first one in the row before kicking into its neighbor. Knuckles throbbing, muscles burning - she drowns the noise her body makes in protest with another swing that snaps the dummy’s arm, leaving it stuck at a grotesque angle. Swing - CRASH - swing - SMASH - swing - CLANG - nothing untouched, nothing unturned. Voltaea loses sight of what she’s swinging at and sinks into the rhythm - I hope she likes this. I hope she’s proud. I hope she knows I was thinking of her.
“Tribute! Your time is up - drop the weapon and step onto the elevator!” She’s so caught up in her thoughts she almost misses the man’s voice booming out over the speakers - loud, demanding, but wavering .
“You’re not going to take orders from a weak-willed man like that, are you darling?” Alara’s imagined words worm through her, calling her to action.
“No, I’m not!” She answers the call loud enough that it echoes off the walls, tightening her grip around the club and glaring up at the platform above with red-hot rage .
“That’s my girl!” Whatever the man on the platform says next, she doesn’t hear it - it doesn’t matter, she’ll be proud of me, I know it. Teeth clenching, calves tensing - she shoots off for the first aid station. Swing - SMASH - swing - CRASH - DING! There’s a chime as the elevator doors open and three white-uniformed Peacekeepers come marching out, shock batons raised. Oh, shit.
Static rising, thoughts spinning - FOCUS! The officers start to fan out - they want to corner me! Voltaea is off running before she even knows where she’s going, eyes darting around frantically - an exit, anything! Thundering footsteps echo behind her as she beelines for the only other exit she knows of besides the elevator and the door she came through - the cafeteria will have to do.
A stinging pain shoots through her before it gets lost in the rush as she shoulder-tackles her way through the double doors - where to go, where to go, where to go . There’s only one door out she can see and she bolts for it, bouncing backward and reeling with a hiss of shock as it fails to yield to her like the others had. The footsteps and shouting close in, suddenly louder as the Peacekeepers burst into the room. “STOP AND GET ON YOUR KNEES!” The officer nearest to her yells as he closes the distance.
In a last-ditch attempt to evade him, Voltaea leaps up onto the counter behind the buffet table, attempting to open the sliding glass window that divides the cafeteria from the kitchen - LOCKED! DAMNIT! She pulls back, grip around the club so tight she can feel her knuckles cracking - and swings . SMASH! Ignoring the sharp, jabbing pain of glass shards digging into her back, she rolls through the now-shattered window into the kitchen and lands with a clumsy THUD on her hands and knees on the other side. “Great! Now we’re gonna have to stop by medical with her too!” Me? As she stands, she reaches her free hand around and feels at her back - What? Her face contorts as she examines the fresh blood streaked across her palms and fingertips - Is that mine? It’s too-warm to the touch and leaves behind an odd sensation as it dries, made stranger when she rubs her fingertips together - Huh. She reaches back around and dabs at one of the stinging cuts before looking herself over again - I’ve never seen so much. That much is true - minor cuts were common in her line of work, but the only major accident she’d suffered had been shock and burn related - Mostly bloodless. Cleaner.
Preoccupied by the fluid slowly leaking into the fabric of her training uniform, Voltaea hardly notices the door click open until the thundering footsteps are almost upon her. Startled, she swings the club still clutched in her right hand around full-force at the nearest Peacekeeper. SNAP! “EUAAAGHHHHH!” The pitchy wail drowns out the sickening snap of breaking bone as the officer’s arm cracks backward at an unnatural angle. Did I just-
Shrieking laughter - I made an impression! The only thing that stifles the triumphant swell of pride that strikes her as she realizes what she managed to do is the other two officers closing on her with their shock batons. BZZZZZZZZZT -
“So the next thing I know, I’m lying flat on my stomach in the hallway with some guy in a white coat rubbing goo all over my back, and two Peacekeepers screaming in my ear about how ‘back in their day’ they would have been allowed to shoot me for that or something. Afterwards, they cleaned me up, gave me a new shirt, and dragged me upstairs. ” She glosses over a few parts of her story - the part where she’d panicked, the voice at the back of her head, the fear of disappointing her mentor - what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Alara reaches over to lift up Voltaea’s shirt, examining the now mostly-healed cuts on her back from where the glass had ripped through her. “That stuff they used is magic - I can barely feel them now.” Voltaea mutters as her mentor lazily traces over the outline of a larger one with her finger. The lack of verbal response from Alara makes her teeth itch, so she starts to rattle off questions - “Do you think you’ll be able to send me stuff like that in the arena? Like, what kind of sponsor money does that cost? I don’t even know if we have sponsors, has Orville been meeting with them? Should I be doing anything to get us more? Do we - mhmghphgm!”
Alara cuts her off with a searing kiss, threading her claw-tipped fingers through the back of Voltaea’s hair and raking them across her scalp. Eyes fluttering shut, she leans into the touch and lets her mouth slip open to explore the other woman’s lips with the tip of her tongue. Alara pulls back and lets out a low, throaty laugh - is that… good, then? “You gorgeous, magnificent, deranged creature-” The older woman strokes her cheek gently, “-You absolutely would have been shot if you’d pulled that stunt in my day, darling.” Voltaea frowns at her but it just seems to set her off laughing again - “Oh, don’t pout, Voltaea.” She leans forward and plants a kiss on the girl’s forehead. “If your intent was to sell yourself as the wildcard contender, you’ve succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. They’ll certainly make note of your dramatic performance. And from a more practical standpoint - gods - the stamina that must have taken!” It was kind of impressive, wasn’t it? She flushes, turning to hide the smile overtaking her face when Alara catches her and gently guides her back - “How many times do I have to tell you not to hide from me before you-”
The phone rings, cutting her off mid-sentence - “A moment, darling.” Alara grabs it from the holder and answers with a brusque - “Alara speaking, I certainly hope you have a good reason for calling during my very limited relaxation t-”. The blood drains from her face and she clears her throat before speaking again, Voltaea leaning closer in an attempt to hear who’s talking on the other end before her mentor holds her off with a cutting glare. ‘Don’t say a thing.’ Alara mouths to her before she starts to speak again - “I wasn’t expecting to be hearing from you again so soon. To what do I owe the honor?” She sounds nervous, who is that? Voltaea strains to hear anything - whoever it is, they talk too quietly. Just then she feels a hand grasp her wrist and looks up to see her mentor staring at her, a stern look on her face - ‘Go to the lounge, I’ll be out soon.’
Crossing her arms and slumping back into the pillows defiantly, Voltaea taps the side of her ear and mouths ‘I want to listen’, flinching when her mentor smacks the back of her hand and shoos her off with a flippant gesture. Now I REALLY want to know who it is.
If looks could kill, the one she gets when she doesn’t move would have ended her right there. Alara goes to mouth something again but quickly pivots to talking to whoever is on the line - “Oh, I don’t know - if I’m lucky, she’s out in the main suite somewhere waiting for the training scores to come in like I told her to.” The emphasis on the last few words is for Voltaea’s benefit and with a final, overdone eye-roll she hoists herself off the bed and starts dragging her feet towards the door. She’ll tell me later, I’m sure. If they’re talking about me, she has to, right? She reassures herself as she spares a last small wave and exits the room.
It feels strange to her now, walking out here without Alara wrapped around her whispering what move to make next - Stop worrying, she’ll come out when she’s done. I can just talk to Coulomb. He’s probably got snacks, if nothing else. Poking her head around the corner at the end of the hall, she sees Coulomb already curled up on the large sofa in a set of soft-looking pajamas with an entire tray of pastries on the table in front of him. Flitting around the room and chirping loudly to the boy is Orville. His eyes go wide when he notices her, but he quickly recovers, clearing his throat - “Oh, there you are! Earlier than I expected - is Alara with you?” she shakes her head and the man visibly relaxes - “Come, sit!” he gestures at the couch. “We’re still waiting on dinner - someone thought it would be more fun to start with dessert. But it should be here soon - I requested for an arrival ten minutes before the announcements start so we can eat while we watch.” Voltaea makes for the lounge area as he keeps chattering - “I find that our tributes have been a bit less nervous in years past when we have something to eat while we wait. Gives the mind something else to focus on.”
Voltaea nods at him, disinterested in whatever it is he’s chattering about. She gives Coulomb a warm smile as she plops down next to him - “Did I miss anything interesting?” she gestures at the television, showing a pre-show broadcast where a pair of talking heads discuss their predictions for who will be best dressed for interview night.
He giggles and shakes his head - “Not unless you like listening to them argue about if Cymbria or Marcelus is prettier, that's been it for twenty minutes now.” Cymbria, that’s easy.
“Not really.” She swipes a frosted fruit pastry off the tray and takes a huge bite before Coulomb has the opportunity to lecture her about not eating again.
“They said the show would start at six, so we don’t have too long to wait.” Voltaea nods and settles back into the couch, leaning into the plush cushions - I don’t have long now to enjoy this. The thought unsettles her so she tries to push it back out of her mind as the two watch in silence for a few minutes. Coulomb starts to fidget, wringing his hands restlessly - “Is Ms. Vox going to come watch with us?”
“I’m not sure. I hope so.” She answers candidly. “But if she doesn’t make it in time I’ll tell her about it after, I guess.” The second part is a reassurance for herself more than anything - please come out here soon. Coulomb turns his focus back to the television and they sit awkwardly for a while - watching, waiting. Orville’s chirping, the talking heads, Coulomb kicking his feet against the couch, the static - gods, the static - it’s the loudest silence she’s ever sat in. Hurry up, Alara, I don’t want to watch this without you. Her stomach churns, working itself into a tense knot - The call she took is about me. An Avox walks into the suite pushing a squeaky-wheeled dinner cart that he leaves nearby. What if they’re going to drop my scores because I ran off? What if I got her in trouble? What if I got ME in trouble? What if she’s mad at me? What if -
“Hello-o-o!” The sickly-sweet song slices straight through her concerns and warms her from the inside out as Alara bounds out from the hallway and skitters to a halt in the center of the space. She looks at the television, where the theme music for Caesar Flickerman’s broadcast has just started to play over the credits for the last show - “Gods I’m good, right on time!” Prowling across the room, she slides herself onto the couch next to Voltaea, throwing her legs over her lap and planting a kiss on her cheek without a second thought towards who sees.
That’s… but… what is she… does she want people to think we’re…? Voltaea’s thoughts sputter like a dying generator as a hot blush floods from her cheeks to her chest. If he notices them at all, Coulomb is doing his very best not to show it, keeping his eyes locked on the screen in front of him as the cameras pan around the stage and Caesar steps out in a gods-awful, hideous, shimmering pink suit with elaborate, sculptural shoulderpads high enough to frame his face between them. What is that even supposed to look like?
Alara leans in, breath hot against her ear, and whispers - “This is the moment where we find out if they can sense you’re a victor, or if you’ll have to show them they’re wrong.”
“Ms. Vox, what did you score during your games? Were you the highest?” Coulomb asks nervously, without taking his eyes off the television.
“Hm?” She whips her head around to look at him, surprised at the interruption - “Oh! Right.” Does she just not notice other people are here, or is it something about him? “I was firmly in the middle of the pack with a 6, actually.” Alara stiffens and immediately justifies herself like she’s embarrassed to admit she wasn’t on top - “Now you have to understand, there wasn’t half the opportunity to show off your more indirect survival skills, not like there is today - and the consideration process was much less refined. Higher scores simply tended to go to the largest tributes back then, it’s not a reflection on my talents.”
“Oh I didn’t think it-”
“Good, I’m glad you understand. Now why don’t we watch quietly until the two of you come up, hm?” Alara phrases it like a question, but the bite in her voice says it isn’t one. “Here we go, finally!” She gestures at the screen where Caesar has pulled up the logo for District One to kick off the scoring announcement.
“Without further adieu! Coming to us from District One we have -” The man on the television gestures to the screen behind him, “Cymbria Vale; 10!” A picture of Cymbria, icy glare fully in-tact, flashes behind Caesar and the live audience cheers wildly before it switches to a photo of Marcelus posing with a thin sword and a half-face mask in some sort of dance-like pose. “And Marcelus Glint; 9!” Oh, he’ll hate that. Voltaea chuckles when he comes in at a lower score than his partner had - all that big talk, and for what?
The enormous portrait of Cassia Brigg fills twice as much of the frame as either of the District One tributes had, and she wears an ear-to-ear grin - all teeth, all excitement. “From District Two we have Cassia Brigg coming in with another 10!” Caesar pauses for a moment to let the crowd roar, looking over the list of names in his hand as the slideshow moves forward behind him - “And representing the gentlemen, Tiber Spade - and folks, you’re not going to believe it - but we now have a three-way tie for top-scorer at 10!”
“Oh gods above, it’s going to be another one of those years.” mutters Alara. “This move will end up being about as popular as the plague when all’s said and done.”
“What do you mean?” Voltaea questions as Caesar moves on to the District Three tributes, scoring a 7 and a 5 respectively.
“If there doesn’t end up being a clear favorite we have what we call in the industry ‘an overstacked roster’. Contentious playing field, lots of high scorers - it tends to drum up a lot of early excitement, sure, but as soon as those top scorers start to drop you end up with a lot of very angry odds-chasers screaming across social media about how it was all obviously rigged against their favorite.”
Voltaea starts to ask something but gets sidetracked by the District Four announcements. “Nerisse Tidewalker; 8.” Cymbria’s sidekick, I always forget about her. Not the worst score. “And Mako Drift; 9!” The crowd roars, the static buzzes louder, her whole body feels like it’s collapsing in on itself and she wraps both arms around Alara’s waist and clings to her like a liferaft. We’re next. Please let me win… Please let me do well… Please just don’t let me be last. She tries to temper her expectations as Caesar flips the page in his hand and starts to read.
“From Panem’s Powerhouse in District Five, we have Voltaea Amprole with - I don’t believe it, this must be some kind of record! Unless someone manages to score higher, we’re up to a four-way tie for the top now at 10!” The crowd roars, Alara cries out excitedly, but her hearing fades behind the dull buzz of rising static before she can hear what she’s saying - Is that good? I didn’t win… but I sort of did… does it count if it’s a tie? I still have to win the actual games, but…
Coulomb lets out a choked sob that rips her back to reality - “I knew it! I’m going to be the worst one out there!” Oh, shit, I wasn’t listening - what did he score? He buries his head between his knees and whimpers softly as Orville walks over to lay a hand on his back.
“There, there -” Orville chirps comfortingly as the boy’s whimpers turn to full tears, "Don't take anything they say in scoring too personally. You heard Ms. Vox, she only scored a 6 during her games and she won just fine! You always have a chance, don’t-”
“NOT WITH A 3 I DON’T!” It’s the only time she’s ever heard Coulomb yell like that. Tear-soaked and shaking, he turns to Voltaea and says - “V, you shouldn’t be my ally, it’s just going to scare off sponsors who think I’m too weak and-”
“Oh shut up!” She untangles herself from Alara to turn and shout at the boy - “You know what, Orville’s right for once - you can’t start pouting just because you got a bad score. Plenty of people have won with low scores, not just Alara-”
“If everyone could stop bringing up my past failures-” Alara mumbles but she’s cut off by Voltaea -
“Everyone who walks in there has a 1 in 24 shot of walking out, good score or bad score.” Coulomb visibly relaxes when she points out the fact that most of them had no chance at winning, like that was some comfort to him - whatever works, I guess. “Besides, if we aren’t allies for some reason, my sister will kill whichever one of us manages to survive. I’m not taking the risk.” She says it bluntly, but with a cheeky wink and a smirk that makes Coulomb laugh.
“Thats probably true.” He concedes. They’ve talked straight through the scoring for District 6 - but are they really contenders? “I guess I’m just scared, we’re so close now.”
“ We all are. ” They both fall silent at the sound of Alara’s breathless confession - She must be, if she’s not even trying to hide it. Voltaea pulls her tighter as Caesar starts to announce their allied District’s scores.
“Sarah Thistlewood - you know what, I should stop being so surprised! It’s a very tight playing field this year as we have our fifth top-scorer; another 10!” Voltaea and Coulomb both whoop wildly as their friend takes a top spot. The cheers from the crowd are deafening now, louder with every high-scorer announced - But if we’re all the best… no one really is, are they? Her heart sinks - any initial excitement she’d had for Sarah consumed by a growing dread. If they’re all this strong… How am I ever going to beat them? “And Bashir Cedar comes in with one of the highest scores among our younger tributes tonight; 8!”
An 8?! How did he…??? A glance over at Coulomb tells her he’s just as confused as she is. Bashir hadn’t shown himself to be useless by any means - but he’d spent his time in training doing a lot of the same things Coulomb did; survival skills, not combat practice. Nothing flashy. Nothing that stands out - He wouldn’t tell anyone what he was doing in his private session, and with that score? It must have been something impressive… but what? Struck by the sudden realization that her allies might be a slightly stronger pair than herself and Coulomb, she makes a note to think of a backup plan - just in case. “Do you know what he was doing in there today?”
The boy shrugs at her - “He didn’t tell me anything else after you left - and hey! Speaking of that, what did YOU do in there today?! We had to wait an extra half an hour to go after you went in!”
“I just made one of my more interesting traps, that’s all. It probably took them more than a few minutes to take it apart without hurting themselves.” She lies, not wanting to explain her club-wielding, room-trashing, Peacekeeper-smashing episode to the boy - It would probably just scare him.
When Caesar makes the announcement for District Ten, Voltaea swears - “Shit, did anyone catch the scores for Eight and Nine?”
“I’ve been writing them down, not to worry - the list will go with Alara later so you can look it over.” Orville chimes in - he just assumes I’m staying with her later… What does that make us now? “The twins from Eight scored a 9 and a 5, and the tributes from Nine…” He trails off suddenly and starts scribbling as Caesar reads off the next name.
“Tayanna Redmayne comes in with a 6 - but we all know that number would be higher if they gave points for a winning smile!” The picture behind him shows a tiny, well-tanned girl with braided pigtails and a glowing grin. Voltaea almost doesn’t recognize her - I don’t think I saw her smile once during training, that barely looks like the same kid. “For the boys - and I promise you, this is the LAST one of these tonight - Frederico Marrón, for a six way tie at 10 points!” She can’t recall ever hearing him speak - I can’t really think of a time I heard EITHER of them speak, they didn’t stand out much… I should have been paying more attention…
The last two Districts blaze by quickly - they never linger long on Twelve. Alara is on her feet and looking over Orville’s list before the closing remarks are over, leaving Voltaea with her spiraling thoughts in a heap on the sofa. I don’t know what any of this means. Am I better off now? Worse? Should I have done things differently? A warm, clawed hand wraps around her own and pulls her to her feet - “Come on, darling - Time to say your goodnights. We have so much left to prepare before tomorrow and I’d like to start-” Alara glances over at the clock- “-Five minutes ago.”
“Goodnight, V. I’ll see you in the morning.” Coulomb waves to her. She smiles back at him before turning to follow Alara back to their now-presumably-shared room.
Alara strides to the couch and guides Voltaea to a seat. “Should we go over some of the scores I missed? I kind of got distracted, but-”
“Actually, darling, there’s something rather important we need to talk about and I’m afraid that I’ve run out of time to postpone the conversation.” Alara cuts her off with a nervous edge to her voice that makes Voltaea’s ears ring. Oh no-
“I messed up, didn’t I? I should have had the best score, I shouldn’t have tied with the rest of-”
“Voltaea!” Alara snaps at her before softening her tone again. “It has nothing to do with your performance today.” She pauses, head cocked to the side - thinking. “It has more to do with enhancing your performance in the arena. You’d like to keep your edge, yes?” The drugs! I hadn’t even thought about how she’d get them to me! Voltaea nods without another thought. Alara sighs heavily and another lingering silence hangs between them before she finally says - “I don’t know how to put this delicately, so I’ll be frank. There are two ways we could do this, my sweet, and I don’t think you’re going to like either of them.”
What could possibly be that bad? “I want to win, I don’t have to like it.”
Alara smiles softly - “I do hope you mean that.” - then leaves her on the couch to dig through her closet. Several outfits fly over her shoulder - “There it is!”. When she turns back, she’s clutching a red quilted handkerchief - “This is our first option.” Skating back over to the couch, she drops it in Voltaea’s lap before sinking down into the seat next to her. It’s silk, soft - she runs her fingers over it until she spots an embroidered set of initials near the edge in gold thread - A.V. Hers. For me? But…
“I can’t take this with me, we aren't allowed to bring extra stuff in with us.”
“Mm… well, you see…” Alara trails off for a moment before she finds her words again. “You can take it with you, actually. It’s just that you’d have to register it as your chosen token with your stylist tomorrow…”
“I can’t do that!” Voltaea’s hand flies to her necklace - “I promised my sister I would wear hers - it’s the only thing… I…” For a brief moment, she considers it - but I could have something of Alara’s too… Then shoves the thought to the back of her mind - “No. I can’t. It has to be the other option.”
“It won’t be pretty.” Alara mutters under her breath.
“I… I have to take the necklace with me.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Alara says flippantly, “Option two is that you swallow several weeks worth of doses packaged into latex balloons - which could be a dangerous prospect should they decide to burst before you manage to retrieve them.”
Voltaea shudders - “Retrieve them from… Oh gods - thats -”
“I told you it wouldn’t be pretty, darling.” Alara wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her tighter, whispering in her ear - “But there’s time to reconsider, if you’re having fresh doubts about the method…”
Her thoughts spin. Thoughts of her sister - how she’d been so excited to show Voltaea the little trinkets she made, how she’d been so proud to show off her work, how happy it had made her when Voltaea had loved it, how she’d told her to win with her very own good luck charm… She swallows. Sighs. I hope she can forgive me some day. I hope she understands what I had to do to win. Voltaea reaches behind her neck and fumbles with the clasp of her necklace, gently removing and thumbing it over before turning back to her mentor - Will any of this matter, in the end? “I have one thing to ask you before I agree to this.”
Alara’s lips curl into a smile - “Anything, my love.”
Voltaea’s voice cracks; the only evidence of the tears she’s holding back as she says - “If I die, will you promise me you’ll bring this back to my sister?”
“Darling, you’re not going to-”
“Alara, please!” She cuts the older woman off before she can protest - “Just promise me. If I die - and I KNOW you don’t think I will, but if I do. You have to bring it back to her. Bring it back, and tell her that I love her… and that I’m sorry I didn’t come home.” She pauses for a moment - Would it make her feel better to know? Would it make me feel better if she knew? Maybe just the important part - “And would you tell her that I was loved, in the end? She doesn’t need the details… I just…” The dam breaks and tears flow faster than she can choke them off, breaking into low, arrhythmic sobs as she wraps herself around Alara as tightly as she can.
Her mentor reaches up, slowly scratching at the back of her scalp - “Shhhhhhhh…” Alara blows the sound softly into her ear - “No tears tonight, my sweet.” They lie there entwined like that for a long while; sobs tapering off into weak, choked gasps before finally stopping altogether leaving just the sound of their breath between them. Plush lips graze her cheek - “I promise you-” Then the corner of her mouth - “If it comes to that-” Then her earlobe - “I’ll do whatever it takes to get her the message.” Finally, Alara pulls her into a proper kiss.
When it breaks, Voltaea lingers - a tender hand on her mentor’s cheek. Should I? Alara smiles at her - There’s hardly any time left. She smiles back - So I have to make every second matter. “I love you.”
Eyes glassy, lip quivering, Alara stares back at her for a short eternity before finally - no fighting, no denial, no protests - she whispers; “I love you too.”