Chapter Text
Camera!: Voltaea
“Yours looks… more comfortable than mine does, at least.” Voltaea gestures to Coulomb’s suit. And he doesn’t have to run around half-naked in front of the crowd. In contrast to the barely stuck-on dress Anton has stuffed her into, he’s been allowed to wear a bodysuit that provides full covering. Not that it’s any less over the top - rows of what look like shimmering gold scales cover the surface and clink against each other every time the boy so much as shifts.
“Fair, but it’s not even close to as ugly as mine! I look like a golden armadillo.” Coulomb chirps back at her and they both laugh. His stylist makes a point of looking offended, but neither of them pay her any mind - He’s right about that.
A quick glance at the clock tells her it’s been ten minutes since she left Alara back in their suite with Anton - What’s taking them so long? She said this would be quick. Voltaea taps her fingers against the bar counter impatiently - the click-click-click of her nails providing at least some distraction from her growing unease. I don’t know what they could possibly have to talk about. Orville chatters away about some special dessert he’d like to order for everyone tonight but she couldn’t be less interested but her mind wanders to the slight tickling sensation against her face. Ugh, my hair is everywhere, this is chaos! Between her nerves about Alara and tonight’s interview she feels like she’s drowning and tries to coach herself through it to no avail. I’m going to do fine, we practiced all the common questions before breakfast, there’s nothing they can throw at me that I can’t answer. Not a single thing she tells herself seems believable, and the stimulant patch on her shoulder isn’t enough to give her confidence. Gods, I wish she’d have let me take some of the stronger stuff. It’s the sixth time that thought has crossed her mind this morning - she grits her teeth and chases it off again.
“Hello-o-o! We’re back!” Alara’s song-like voice whirls down the hall and wraps around her like a warm embrace - Finally! Rounding the corner with Anton in tow, she stops just inches away, looking Voltaea over with a sly smirk - “I really do love this look, my sweet. That dress does wonders for your figure.”
“I… um… thank you.” Not quite sure how to respond given how much she wishes she was wearing anything else - like maybe a dress that isn’t stuck to me with tape - she opts to keep it simple. Now that they’re standing in the brighter lighting of the lobby, Voltaea notices the color of her mentor’s dress almost exactly matches her own and can’t hold back the smile that overtakes her - “I like that we kind of match. But you look much prettier than I do.”
“You don’t have to be self-deprecating to give a compliment, darling. There’s plenty of room for the both of us to be beautiful.” Alara tosses a wink in her direction that makes the world melt around her. As it does, her gaze drifts over every curve of the woman in front of her - Heart pounding - Heat rising - Head spinning - Voltaea! Focus! “- and just remember, I’ll be right backstage with you until it’s your turn. Three minutes, over and done. Then we have the whole night to ourselves, alright?” She catches the tail end of what Alara was saying and nods - Whatever it was, it isn’t going to make me any less nervous. “Good girl.”
Before Voltaea can compose herself enough to form a response, Anton appears carrying a bright purple-and-silver case. Ugh. A pang of frustration hits her when she notices the tremor in his hand. So she’ll let him have the stronger stuff but not me? Pupils blown wide and wearing a devious grin, he speaks with a pressured cadence that she knows wasn’t there when they’d worked together earlier - “So.” He drops the case on the bar counter with a loud thud - “I know we’re getting down to the wire here, but I had a last minute vision that I think you two will love.” What I’d love is to not be left out of things. Flipping open the case and rummaging through, he continues- “Now, I normally hate using press-ons - but we’re short on time, so they’ll have to do-” He lets out an excited squeak when he finds what he’s looking for and pulls out a set of what look like a detached set of the same black, claw-tipped fingernails Alara has. “I knew I still had at least ONE set of these! My roommate and I did a whole ‘victors through the ages’ costume theme for our bloodbath watch party last year and these were a huge hit.” The pace of his speech picks up with every passing second - I could be faster too, if she’d just trust me. “His cousin Janus came dressed as Selica Vireaux, which was pretty funny because the two other girls dressed as her both voted him the best looking version of the night. I think he actually ended up sleeping with one of them, which, like, when you consider how that must have looked-”
Alara claps her hands and cuts him off - Thank you. “Anton! You’re talking too much again, and as you said yourself we’re quite short on time so if you wouldn’t mind getting a move on-”
The stylist snaps back into focus and nods - “Oh gods, yep, sorry. My bad. You know how it is, you just get going on and-” He stops himself before he starts rambling again. “Let me just get these glued on, and we’ll be on our way!”
It only takes him a few minutes to attach the nails - They’re more uncomfortable than the dress is. “Alara, how do you get anything done with these?” Voltaea clicks the tips of them against the counter - The sound is nice, but they’re not very practical. She figures that much out when she tries to pick up a pastry from the table on their way out the door and gets frosting stuck underneath them. Sticky, gross, awful, ugh! Why did I do this to myself? Abandoning the attempt at dessert and following the others, she tries in vain to suck some of the stickiness off before asking - “Can I wash my hands?”
The elevator doors are already hissing open in front of them, she knows it’s futile before Alara even responds - “Darling, that’s something you should have thought about before we were running late. Now, time to go.” Her mentor shakes her head and wraps an arm around her, pulling her into the elevator, the stylists following behind with Orville and Coulomb. This was a lot nicer when it was just the two of us.
Being smushed into the tiny, glass-walled box with five chattering people becomes intolerable within seconds. Voltaea presses herself into the corner and slams her eyes shut, a static buzz overtaking the worst edge of the noise. Her mentor’s voice floats over the rest like smoke, though she doesn’t pay much attention to what she’s saying. All she can think about right now is how having to face a crowd again makes her stomach flip sideways - Last time it was so loud…
“Voltaea!” Alara shouts and snaps her back to reality- “Eyes open, my love - our ride is waiting on us.” A warm hand grabs her own and tugs her forward, into the lobby she’d only seen on her way into the Tribute Tower. Too-tall glass walls open to the Capitol skyline, ablaze with a thousand lights as far as the eye can see - How much power does it take just to keep this whole place running for the night? In contrast to Alara’s warmth, the air that hits her when the doors open is surprisingly cool for this time of year - And I’m walking around wearing almost nothing. Great. She folds her arms across herself to conserve heat as they make their way to the waiting car - At least, I think it’s a car. It’s longer than any car I’ve ever seen, though.
The interior is enormous - I think Markus would faint if we got our hands on a work truck outfitted like this. Velvety purple seats, bowls of fruit, trays of desserts - There’s even a bar in here! Who puts a bar in a car?! This is great! It’s almost enough to make her forget about the crowds, until Orville mentions something about walking them through a line of photographers and her heart sinks again. Alara, still attached to her side, munches on grapes in unusual - but not unwelcome - silence, occasionally leaning over to get a better look at whatever Anton is doing with the datapad in his hands. What IS he doing with that, anyway? The stylist has been intently tapping away at the screen since they sat down, wholly wrapped up in whatever he’s doing and paying no attention at all to the chatter around him. Voltaea leans over to see for herself, but he’s at exactly the wrong angle for her to make it work - Ugh. Slumping back in her seat and grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl, she tries to content herself with snacking until they arrive.
It’s worse than I could have possibly imagined. The door to the car swings open and they’re ushered out by a duo of Peacekeepers in dress uniforms into a herd of colorfully-dressed, too-loud people armed with flashing cameras and shoving one another to the side for the chance to get their microphones the closest as Voltaea and the others walk by. There’s so many questions being shouted in her direction that she can barely breathe, let alone make out anything they’re saying - Alara seems right at home. Her mentor tosses out answers left and right as they push their way down the red carpet that leads to a set of steel double doors labeled “Staging Area”. Only a few more feet and we’ll be away from them again. Breathe.
Just before they reach the doors, a woman clad in a bright orange and pink feathered dress bursts through the velvet ropes dividing them from the crowd wielding a microphone and stumbles to a stop right in front of Voltaea. The woman thrusts the mic at her as the Peacekeepers break away to grab her - “Agrippina Finch, reporter for the Capitol Inquirer - Voltaea, I just have a few questions about the photographs that were recently posted online of the two of-” Before the reporter can finish her sentence, Alara pulls back and slaps her with a loud CRACK across the cheek. What!?!
The Peacekeepers yank the microphone away from her and drag her off - Voltaea doesn’t catch what the woman is saying behind her as she’s pulled through the doors by Alara into the much quieter, but still too-loud staging area. Why did she slap her!? What photographs was she talking about? She struggles to get a handle on what’s happening while the room around her buzzes with activity - at least half of the other District’s tributes have already arrived with their mentors and styling teams, though each group has their own set area cordoned off with room dividers to keep them all somewhat separated. I guess we aren’t going to see much of our allies tonight. As they pass by District Seven’s cubicle, Sarah - dressed in a tree-like bodysuit adorned with red, orange, and yellow leaves - gives them a huge grin and a thumbs up. Bashir seems to be too busy sulking in the corner to pay them any mind, but Coulomb shouts “Good luck!” to him anyways.
Once the group has settled into their own space - complete with a screen showing the stage - Voltaea leans in to whisper in Alara’s ear, “What happened back there? That reporter was asking about photographs, what did she m-”
“ Don’t worry about that, darling.” Alara cuts her off sharply, “I’m sure whatever she was talking about was just some lazy attempt at getting you to give her a scoop, that’s all. That sort of behavior isn’t too common, thankfully, but once in a while you’ll come across an overzealous new paparazzo who thinks they’re worthy of standing in your way.” Her mentor rests a hand on her thigh and squeezes - “I’ve learned the easiest way to get rid of them is by force. It’s a skill I’m sure you’ll pick up over the years as well.”
If it’s nothing, why was she the only one to break out of the crowd like that? That doesn’t make any sense… Before Voltaea can put those thoughts into words, Alara changes the subject to interview strategy and they get lost in the barrage of incoming information - “He’ll definitely be asking you about the parade incident - brush past it. It’s been rehashed for days already and people bore quickly around here. It might get you some attention tonight from the people already invested, but you’ve already run that well almost dry. Let them see sides of you they haven’t gotten to know yet-” She puts a hand over Voltaea’s heart and whispers secretively - “I hate to say it, but be a bit vulnerable if you can. I was never any good at it myself, but it’ll round out your image and help you win over some of the bleeding heart types in the audience.” The way Alara spits out the words ‘bleeding heart’ tells Voltaea this is one of the most offensive things a person can be to her - I don’t know if she’s going to like my sister, if that’s the case. She doesn’t mention that to her mentor - I’m not even sure how we’re going to break the news when we go home.
Oh yeah, home! Shit. I hadn’t thought about that. With everything that’s happened since the Reaping, and the looming threat of the Games, it’s been the furthest thing from her mind. I can’t think of a single person I’ve met back in Five who has a nice thing to say about her - Thinking about that part makes her chest ache. And then there’s my mother - oh no. She digs the tips of her false nails into the flesh of her palm but it does nothing to chase the image of Teslene Amprole’s disgusted scowl out of her head - Will she even let me see my sister if I show up with a girlfriend? Voltaea can still quote the entirety of her mother’s lecture about propriety from the last time the subject of her dating interests had come up between them. Probably not. Looking over at Alara, who’s still animatedly blabbering away about interview strategy, her heart sinks into her stomach - Maybe we just have to keep us a secret. We could do that, right? If she came back to Five with me, we’d be the only two in the Victor’s Village - that would be plenty of privacy, wouldn’t it?
“Voltaea-” I don’t ever want you to stop saying my name that way, so we’ll HAVE to make it work. Somehow. - Alara’s voice tugs her gently back to the present. “Darling, you haven’t said a word since we sat down. Is everything alright?”
No. “I’m okay, it's just… the crowds make me nervous.” It’s the only excuse she can think of that sounds plausible - Because it’s true, it’s just that everything else is so much worse to think about.
“You’ll adjust to that over time - I barely notice them nowadays.” Alara wraps an arm over her shoulder and pulls her closer - “Just try to relax for now, my love. I suppose I haven’t been helping with my over-planning - I despise it when Selica does that to me before a show. You don’t have to be perfectly on script, but I can’t have you getting lost in thought mid-interview.” Voltaea nods and lies herself down so her head rests in her mentor’s lap with her legs spread across the bench, ignoring Anton’s distant protests about messing up her hair - Should have let me keep it up, then.
Coulomb and Orville are happily chatting away with the styling team, minus Anton, who sits in a corner with his legs crossed still tapping away at his datapad - At least he’s having fun, even if they did put him in the ugliest suit imaginable. The large television mounted on the wall of their cubicle flickers to life and there’s a sharp static crackle from overhead as a speaker starts playing the audio. Once again clad in hideous, bright pink - I wish he’d have chosen something quieter for my year - Caesar Flickerman takes the stage and waves to the roaring crowd. There’s a delay of a couple seconds between when the man on screen flaps his lips and the sound of his voice plays through the speakers that makes Voltaea’s teeth itch to focus on so she shuts her eyes to just listen instead. Better.
Stand for the anthem, Happy Hunger Games, blah, blah, blah… Alara scratches at the back of her scalp as Caesar goes through his opening spiel - I’m going to miss this tomorrow . Tension grips her gut and she gropes around blindly until she finds her mentor’s hand to squeeze - Calm . The announcement of Cymbria’s interview is a welcome distraction from her building dread.
Voltaea has to stifle a laugh when she realizes that Cymbria’s mentor must have also told her to let a little vulnerability into her performance - Wow, what a terrible plan that’s turning out to be. In spite of trying to play up how the pressure of all her success gets to her, nothing about how the girl describes her life in District One - top of her class, merchant family, a long-dead great-uncle who won forty-six years back - invokes sympathy. Marcelus, at least, was told to play to his strengths - That is, being obnoxious and blowing kisses at anything that walks. The crowd likes this a lot more - But it’s nothing we haven’t seen from him a million times already.
District Two doesn’t keep her attention - She drifts off in thought somewhere midway through Cassia describing how she works out by picking up her little brother over her head and flying him around like a hovercraft - Ohma would hate that so much. Davo would probably squirm too much for it to work with him. I wonder if they’re watching tonight? She’ll definitely watch the fashion recaps with mom. They’re probably staying up late for it. Oh. Shit. My mother is going to HATE this dress… Voltaea cracks her eyes open just enough to check that it’s at least still covering everything it needs to - Barely. If I win, she’ll never let me live this down.
The scratching at her scalp stops - “That’s the last of Three, gods what a depressing duo they have on deck this year.” Alara shifts underneath her - “Time to get up, darling. They’ll want you lined up and ready to go while Four is still on stage.”
Voltaea sighs heavily - I can do this. It’s three minutes. Come on. Just sit up - and wills herself upright. “I still don’t understand how you deal with all of this… attention all the time.”
“A healthy array of medications and many years of practice, my sweet.” Alara stands first and offers her a hand - “Up you go, that’s it. Good girl.” Voltaea can’t tell from the tone if her mentor is trying to be kind or condescending, but the blush creeps into her cheeks and her core burns red-hot nonetheless - Damnit. Not now!
They walk back by District Seven’s cubicle on their way to the stage doors and Coulomb tries to rip their allies' attention from the screen with a loudly whispered “Hey!”, but only Sarah turns to give him a quick wave before tuning back in to the start of Four’s interviews. Voltaea tries to focus on what’s being said through the speakers above as they take their places near the exit, Alara’s hand still gripping her own like a vise - Please never let go.
It takes her a moment to realize the voice she’s hearing belongs to the girl from Four - She’s so quiet when she’s with Cymbria. That girl seems to be completely different from the one she’s hearing on stage right now. This version of Nerisse never seems to stop talking. Caesar manages to get in one question right at the start of the interview that she uses to launch into telling a story about her mother taking her out fishing for the first time that wraps up with what ends up being a riveting recollection of the them reeling in a shark together after an hour-long struggle. It’s the last thing she says, though, that Voltaea finds the most interesting. “Oh, wow, that’s probably my time, huh!? Sorry guys, I know I can go on once I get going - you know how that is, right?!” She’s playing it up for the audience - The crowd cheers - ”Anyway, Caesar - I guess my point is that I’ve pulled off the unexpected before - and I’m going to do the same here.” With that, Caesar gives her a big send off before he announces her District partner - I’ve never heard her sound so… confident? Voltaea makes a note to keep an eye on that development, should they come across each other once the Games start.
It’s then that the doors in front of them swing open and a man wearing a headset and clipboard steps out - “Oh good, you’re already here.” He doesn’t sound particularly enthusiastic, just rushed - “Follow me.” There’s a small, windowless room that feels eerily empty to Voltaea in a way that makes her jaw clench - Soundproofed. Ugh. Once the door shuts behind them, she can’t hear what’s going on over the speakers - I hope that guy doesn’t do anything interesting. The clipboard man pipes up again with brusque directions - “You’ll walk on stage right, exit left. And please, for the love of Snow, don’t go the wrong way - it holds everything up like you wouldn’t believe for something so small and we just do not have that kind of time today.”
I don’t have time for any of this. I don’t want to be here. All I want to do is go home and curl up in bed and have Alara do that thing where - “Darling, you’re clenching - take a deep breath.” Breathe. It’s just three minutes.
This also means, of course, that the boy from four will only be interviewing for three minutes as well. She realizes this is a much shorter time than she thinks when the man with the clipboard flings the next set of doors open and the roar of the crowd threatens to suffocate her on the spot. The only thing separating them from the noise now is a thick curtain of navy-blue fabric - Fuck. Static buzzes sharply in her ears, completely drowning out the hearing in her left - Fuck. A distant, distorted voice booms out over loudspeakers and the crowd screams - Oh no. Hands at her back, pushing her forward - Oh fuck, that was my name he just said wasn’t it?
Spine straight, shoulders back, head held high, just keep moving forward - The screams as she pushes through the curtains are deafening. Caesar Flickerman is shorter than she’d imagined up close - and much shinier . “District Five’s Voltaea Amprole, everyone!” She sits stiffly on the edge of the chair, careful to cross her legs in such a way that the dress doesn’t expose her underwear to the audience - I really, really hope I’m pulling this off. “I have to say that I love this new look you have tonight!” Okay, that’s good at least. “Now, I have to ask - you’re not hiding anything dangerous in this outfit, are you? Because while we all loved that spark you brought to the parade - I’m very attached to this suit.” He tosses a practiced wink to the audience and they laugh - They even laugh too loudly, ugh.
The noise makes it hard to think - I have to say something. She tries to conjure up whatever she can remember of Alara’s plan for her - I’m supposed to brush past the parade so they don’t get bored. What else? The laughter starts to die down - I have to keep this moving, three minutes. Think. Voltaea clears her throat slightly before she speaks, just to fill the growing silence - “No, nothing like that tonight.” Another pause. A now near-deafening silence from the audience. I should have cracked a joke there or something. Shit. THINK! Ugh… I should have been listening to her earlier, but I was too busy thinking about home and… wait, that’s it! Vulnerability. That’s what she said. “I think my sister would like this one better - she’s probably watching this back home tonight.” Voltaea turns to the nearest camera with a smile and a wave - “Hey Ohma, I bet you never thought you’d see me on TV, huh?” There’s murmurs and scattered aww-ing from the crowd as she faces Caesar again - Ok good. I can lean into the family angle then. “Sorry, I don’t think she’d ever forgive me if I didn’t give her a shout-out.” Laughs - Even better. The static starts to clear from her ears.
“No need to apologize at all! But do tell us about your sister - are you close with her?” Caesar tosses her the exact opening she needs.
“I don’t know what we would have done growing up without each other…” And I’m not sure how she’s going to feel about this next part. She’s never liked when I talk about family outside of home. Voltaea does her best, over the remaining two minutes of interview time, to spin the most heart-wrenching version of her life story that she can for the Capitol audience. Forced into work too young by her cold parents, caught up in a near-death accident, - When she looks out over the audience and sees the sheer number of people dabbing away tears, she knows she’s won . The stagehand poking his head out of the curtains tells her her time is almost up - “I think all of that is why she was the first person I promised that I would win. So she wouldn’t have to go through all of that.”
Caesar nods, and clasps her hand between his own “Of course you did. And what a wonderful thing to promise.” He stops for a moment. “Now, you said she was the first, did you make that same promise to the rest of your family?” Voltaea shakes her head no on reflex before she stops to think what that might invite. “Well, we are nearly out of time - so I think my last question to you then is; Who else is counting on you to keep that promise?”
I said too much. Shit. A hush falls over the crowd again as she's visibly frozen on stage. Something Anton said while they were getting ready earlier flashes through her head - about her scar being mysterious. Mysterious it is, then! “Wouldn’t you like to find out.” With that, Voltaea winks at the crowd and stands up before Caesar has a chance to get a word in edgewise. A wave of cheers, some groans, a few scattered boos, and at least one person screaming so loudly Voltaea worries they might shred their vocal cords make up the chorus that follows her off-stage. Three minutes. It’s over.
Alara throws her arms around her and pulls her into a blazing kiss the second she pushes through the curtains - “You were perfect as always, darling!” Her voice is pure comfort - Voltaea melts into her embrace.
“Thanks… I just tried to do what you said.” She’s already being pulled through another set of doors that lead down a long, fluorescent-lit hallway. That’s it. That’s the last thing I have to do before… Voltaea stops dead and turns to face her mentor, tears flowing before she can stop them - “Tonight’s our last night together.”
Alara shakes her head - “Only for now.” Her voice is quiet, quivering at the edges. Nervous. There’s silence between them as her mentor gives her a look that says she understands exactly what the stakes are even if she can’t bring herself to speak of them. “But, nonetheless -” She gives Voltaea’s hand a tight squeeze. “Let’s make it count.”