Sunset ^beta

Chapter Text

Static - Voltaea

        Every day now for Voltaea Amprole starts with static. 

        It’s a buzzing, soft sort of static – stronger by a bit in the left ear. Most sounds are different to her now – sharper, clearer, richer – she noticed it the first day she woke up after her fall. It was like she could hear every fluorescent light in the hospital coming together to form a strange, buzzing, electrical chorus.

        It’s something to do with the accident – that was what District Five’s medical team had said while her parents sat limply and avoided eye contact with her in the days following. Brain injuries can cause issues with auditory processing, they said. There’s some nerve damage, it looks like, in the affected arm. She seems distant – flat affect – distracted. Voltaea didn’t feel distracted. She felt wired. Like her brain had tuned to every beep from a monitor, every word from a doctor, every rustle of the leaves in the big tree outside of her hospital window. Like a song only she could hear – a terrible, overwhelming chorus at times and a peaceful, warm melody at others.  

        They had told her that sleep would be essential for recovery, which began to feel like a cruel joke after only the third day of fitful, restless nights. All she could think about when she closed her eyes was what happened – the fall from the high-tension tower, her harness pulling taut, her body working before her mind could stop it to reach out for the nearest thing on instinct. What she ended up grabbing was a live, uninsulated power cable. Her vision had gone white hot and her ears started to buzz, then she remembered nothing until she woke up two weeks later in the District Five hospital with a very excited nurse – voice like glass clinking against itself – alerting every medical staff in the building to her return to the land of the living. 

        The first thing she noticed was the noise. The second was the burning, the buzzing in her arm - the scar from where she was shocked. It branched from its searing center in her palm to strike out up her forearm like a lightning bolt captured in flesh – red and angry. She couldn’t quite flex her fingers the same way in her left hand, but it was never her strong one. The scar still itches sometimes, still glows a paler version of that red, but it doesn’t have that same feral, clawing, burn that it used to carry. The scar reminds her of falling – of failing, she doesn't let herself fail like that anymore. No more grasping at live wires for Voltaea . 

        They’d tried to pull her father from work the day she woke up – he told them he would wait until his shift finished and then come with the rest of his family. Her parents couldn’t look at her – they still can’t. They were the ones who pushed her up there in the first place, forcing her to leave school early to take a job with one of the crews that traveled around District to fix the arteries of Panem’s power distribution grid. She had always been a strong climber, always been a quick study with circuitry, always preferred work that took her places away from others. Wirework was a good fit for her, in spite of her youth and inexperience. She wished she could have stuck around in school a few more years, maybe then she could have done something more technical – less dangerous – but her parents had told her that paying for her youngest brother’s specialized schooling would take priority. When they’d rise up, she’d drown those thoughts within herself before they could cause her pain. 

        The guilt never left her parents' eyes once. Not from her first reaping day onward – when they clung to each other tighter than Voltaea had ever seen them and whispered to how it was okay, they hadn’t made her take that many tesserae, surely she won’t be chosen, will she? 

        She’ll never forget their faces when the Peacekeepers came to the hospital that first night to hand down her penalty for having missed the Reaping last year. They’d doubled her entries. Voltaea did the math. She took 5 tesserae a year, 20 total at her fifteen years of age last reaping – which became 40 overnight, then another 10 tesserae this year to have enough food to make up for the medical costs and soften the blow of her loss of work for the family. 50 entries.

        She laughs then – a sharp, short, shrill thing like microphone feedback. “May the odds be ever in my favor” she mutters, mostly to herself. No one else laughs. Her sister weeps. Her parents leave the room without a word to tend to her brother. This is how things have been with them ever since. The distance of her parents, the melancholy and concern from Ohma, her sister. Her brother Davo, he’s six, has his whole life ahead of him - of course that’s where their focus is now, not with the dead girl walking . That’s what Voltaea thinks when she needs to drown the part that starts feeling sorry for herself in static. 

        She’d started putting her hair up then - not in the usual, practical ponytail she’d sometimes have on for work - but a pristine, high, severe bun that pulled the corners of her face tight - slightly painful at first. It took her practice to get it down right. The rhythm calmed her, the tightness was a veneer of control amid chaos. Every schk of the brush through her hair in the morning, a promise to herself to live her life by her design not her instincts - no more unplanned accidents - no more failures. 

        Her mother had told her it made her face look even more gaunt than it already did, but Voltaea didn’t listen much to her mother anyways. She’d tell her lots of things about herself - too tall, too pale, too skinny, too calloused, “Oh Voltaea where did you get such a long face from?”. Some new ones since the accident too - too scarred, too sleepless, too dull, too strange, “You know you used to smile once, don’t you?”. Voltaea listened even less these days, and kept the small part of her that did listen in a tightly locked container at the corner of her mind. So that it couldn't escape to cause her trouble. 

        When she was finally cleared to go back to work, it was freedom. At first, an overwhelming sort of freedom - overstimulating, loud, a cacophony of wind and whizzing wires. Just having something to focus on other than the nightmares and the cold and the putting-on-a-brave-face for Ohma and the Reaping…

        The first day back she found a problem with a fusebox that no one else had even thought to check. She told her foreman, Markus, that she heard the wires screaming - a faint, high-pitched whine like pain. He’d looked at her like she had three heads, but after the second time it happened, he realized she wasn’t nutty - she was just tuned in to something he couldn’t quite hear. He started having her scout out problems along the lines - it kept her away from people, it kept the crews moving, it won her respect and her coworkers finally saw her as something valuable - it was perfect.

        The air in the high-voltage towers was cleaner than it was below. The smell is more in line with burning ozone than choking smog. Not a good smell, but crisper, more open, less cloying. At first, the buzzing up here overwhelmed her. Shriek, hiss, buzz, sizzle, schk . As she readjusted, the noise became a melody - something to hum along with to pass the time - to hear when a note was out of place and correct it. She was good at her job. Her right hand was plenty deft enough to use her toolkit with the limited use of her left, and her mind was twice as quick as half of the older crewmen - Markus had told her this bit more than once and she had to fight a smile each time he did. He was one of the only people who paid her any mind - even before the accident she had been quiet, awkward, a bit too intense to approach. People around five often ignored her, or mocked her, or made her out to be something she wasn’t. Hell, half the time she felt like her own family did too. The linemen didn't really care if you were odd, just that you worked hard. She could work with that. It made sense to her. 

        Everything was perfect, until today, when the whistle blew in that brief discordant blast that hits Voltaea straight in the base of the skull where it aches in her teeth and tells her it’s time to climb down from the sky and face the world once more. When she sees Markus’s face, stern and furrowed beyond even his advanced years, she remembers what day it is. “Amprole.” His voice always sounded like he had a throat full of gravel - probably the cigars. She didn’t hate it, it had its own gruff musicality. 

        “Old man.” She stiffens- that look of concern on his face makes her stomach ache. She wants for anything but those looks of pity and sadness that her sister carries to follow her here - but here they were, on Markus’s face. 

        “You… ah…” Markus pauses when he sees the pained expression flicker across Voltaea’s face. “Just come back after tomorrow, alright?” Reaping day. Of course. Always looming, she had almost forgotten. When sleep wouldn’t come, or would come fitfully, she’d fall into this state where days start running together. “Go see your sister.” He waves her off with a massive, calloused hand before he ruins his reputation as a man of few words. She nods, turning on her heel to make the long trek back to her family’s apartment on the edge of District Five’s coal burning sector. 

        The Coal Burning sector is where the messiest power plants in the district are located - where they ship in the coal mined in District Twelve to burn. Voltaea’s corner of District Five is among the poorest - kids here generally have to pick up at least a few tesserae for their families to squeeze by. The smog from the coal plants chokes the sky, an omnipotent grey-black cloud hanging overhead. On a sunny day, with the coal plants in full swing, it almost looks like dusk out here even at noontime. Her home is on the bottom floor of a four-story concrete apartment block whose outer walls are so caked in coal soot from the power plants  that it looks like it’s been painted black. 

        She pushes open the door and is greeted by the awful, atonal shrieks of her laughing brother - perched on her father’s lap watching some Capitol-made television program for children. All bright colors and hideous melodies, she hated them. She hated that the fact that Five always had power meant she could always hear the blaring Capitolian accents billowing through the screen in their living room. The scraping of her mother’s wooden spoon on the bottom of the stewpot signifies that dinner was likely still a while off - her mom likes to take her time cooking. She slips out of her harness and jumpsuit quietly and hangs them, careful not to disturb the music of her home just yet, and slinks off to the room she shares with her sister. 

        She can hear Ohma humming some winding, careful tune while she lays on her stomach fiddling with a nest of colorful wires. She likes to turn them into little accessories - like those ladies have in the Capitol fashion shows she watches with their mom. Voltaea tried to hate this too, like the television - frivolous Capitol nonsense to waste wiring like that - but the second her sister had provided her with a tiny bent lightning-bolt necklace she had caved and told Ohma she loved it. Earnestly and truly. She has worn it every day since, and while the guys at work give her a little flak for trying to clean herself up for the cables, she knows a lot of them carry home with them too. A pocket watch for Markus - it was his fathers, he told her once. The harness rigger, Jakobi, has this little woven bracelet that his youngest daughter made him - Voltaea tried to tell him that she likes the pink color, but he was embarrassed to show the others lest they think him less of a man. 

        Ohma doesn’t hear her sister come in. Instead, Voltaea winds her way onto the bed behind her and immediately takes two hands and makes a mess out of the younger girl’s hair. Her sister feigns a terrified scream and giggles. Voltaea, ever measured, clasps a hand over her mouth and says “Oh gods, Ohma, what happened! Your hair looks like you got electrocuted!” Voltaea’s voice was deadpan, but she slipped a small, closed mouth grin at her own teasing. Ohma rolled her eyes and smoothed her hair back. “Jerk. Ugh. You’re worse than Davo.” There’s that softness in her sister’s voice in spite of her words that makes Voltaea feel like home. It’s why she teases her - it seems to be the only time the poor thing isn’t trying to worry herself to death about Voltaea and can just laugh a little. 

        “Whatcha makin’ anyways?“ Voltaea huddles over Ohma’s shoulder, leaning into the casual affectation she tries to put on for work still. It’s practiced. Controlled. Deliberate. People like casual, or ignore it. Voltaea thinks to herself. That’s for the best . Her sister wilts at her words, Voltaea braces. 

        “It’s for you, V, but I’m so far from finishing I don’t know if I can in time…” Ohma’s voice trails off and takes on that lower, quieter tone that Voltaea knows means she’s gone and made the poor thing worry for her again. She vows to stop doing that later. “You’re going to the Reaping again tomorrow, and… oh Voltaea, there’s so many entries!” Tears. Damnit. Voltaea quickly scoops the younger girl into her arms and pulls her into a tight hug as Ohma chokes back a short, sharp, sob. 

        “Stop.” It’s less a comfort than it is a demand. “You’ll be fine, Ohma. If I get reaped, I go, and you find a way to take care of yourself.” Ohma smacks her shoulder through her tears. It’s a light smack, but jarring from the usually soft girl in her arms. 

        “You have to win!” Her sister’s voice, choked with tears, gurgles in Voltaea’s ear and makes her lean away a bit, uncomfortably. “If they take you you have to win so you can come back and be my sister again!” Voltaea smooths the girls hair out again and pulls out of the hug, even attempting a smile. 

        “Go have dinner, okay?” Voltaea grabs the corner of a sheet from the bed and uses it to wipe the tears from her sister’s eyes. “We can talk all about winning if I get picked, but I need to lay down for a minute before I go out there and face Davo’s awful laugh.”

        She waits until after the door has closed and she hears her sister stop lingering just outside. Counting each footfall as she walks away. When Ohma is out of earshot, Voltaea buries her face into the pillow, and screams. She doesn’t stop until her throat is raw and burning - just enough feedback from her body to know she’s still alive and feeling. She buries her nails into the scar on her left hand to center herself - letting the burning creep up her arm like a warm hug. After a moment, she stills, and slowly pulls herself up from the mattress to face herself in the floor-length mirror placed in the corner of her room. 

        Her hair is a disaster, she takes to smoothing that out first. The schk, schk, schk of her hairbrush serves to center her in the present again. Then she has to do something about her face - the red, puffy, sunken look of a girl who just tried not to cry and failed at it. She drags herself to the single bathroom in the home to splash cold water on her face and try to wash the pathetic look from her eyes before she faces her parents and her siblings at dinner. When she’s satisfied, she nods to herself once in the mirror - calm, collected, controlled. Despite her preparations, dinner is a quiet affair. Her parents do not speak to her, except to tell Voltaea that her mother will be late to the Reaping as she wants to keep Davo home until the last minute - wouldn’t do to stress the boy out, would it, Voltaea?  

        When she retreats with Ohma to the comfort of their shared room, the younger girl breaks down again. Voltaea silently bundles her into her arms and pulls them both under a blanket - humming a soft, melodic, not-quite tune into her ear. She tries to shut out the sharpness of the sobs with her own sound, a calming sound - one she pulled from the wires while she worked and made a mantra from. Her sister’s sobs dull into the drone of Voltaea’s humming, then eventually, she sniffles and stops. 

        Voltaea listens for her sister’s breaths, keeping track of the rhythm as she slows into sleep. Once she’s certain Ohma is out cold, she slips from under the blanket to prepare for tomorrow. First, she lays out her Reaping Day outfit. Nothing fancy, just clean enough for the Peacekeepers not to beat her for showing up unprepared. A plain, crisp, white button-down shirt with slightly-too-short sleeves, a pair of coal-grey slacks, a slightly nicer pair of boots than the ones she shed in the entryway covered in grease and coal dust. She takes an extra moment to smooth each piece of clothing out as she lays them on the dresser - calm and controlled - and then slumps onto the floor beside the bed where Ohma has begun snoring in a low, grumbling rhythm.

        She slides a hand under the bed and feels around for a moment before pulling out a locked metal box, flipping the combination in like second nature and clicking it open - quietly, so as not to disturb the rhythm of Ohma’s snoring. Inside, her secret weapon. She has never told her sister what sits inside the box, it would concern her to know Voltaea has thought about this in such detail. She should never, ever have to think about the Games, because she should never have a chance to go. Not if I can help it. She pulls out the two leather-bound notebooks - one to copy, one to create. 

        The first notebook contains every relevant detail Voltaea could find at District 5’s library about past Hunger Games - the arenas, the victors, the reactions of Capitol media, the historic events surrounding them. She had first begun the catalogue after her accident, a project to pass the time at first, then a lifeline as she realized just how close she was to being chosen to step into the arena herself. 

        The second notebook was her thoughts, unfettered, disorganized, and strewn through the pages in a stream of consciousness that it hurt Voltaea to look at. Half-chewed ideas about strategy, victor's to learn from, arena patterns, designs for traps made of scavenged materials. She had even practiced a few of those with begrudging help from Markus when she told him about her project. She confessed to him one day while hanging upside down from a pole fiddling with a hard-to-reach fusebox that she knew in her gut she’d be the next one at Reaping Day. There was no talking her out of it - she wasn’t emotional about it with him. No, it was just a statement of fact. She spent the rest of the afternoon talking about everything she had learned at the library, her ideas, her plans, her fears. Markus didn’t say a word, just let her go on like that for the rest of her shift with a raised eyebrow and a listening ear. 

        The next day, he and the guys had scrambled together some materials that she mentioned during the hour or so where she rambled extensively about the merits of electrical traps in an arena setting so that she could practice her designs in her own time. It was the most overwhelmingly kind thing anyone had ever done for her, at that point. She closed her eyes as they spoke in a chorus, so she could tell who was speaking without the added loudness of the sunlight. Suddenly louder in the face of her emotion. “In exchange for never putting us through another lecture like that again” Gravelly. Thundering. Markus. “We like you when you’re quiet, Voltaea, no offense” Nasally. Pitchy. Jakobi. “Shut up, She’s fine! And if she gets called up, she’ll knock ‘em all dead, that’s our girl!” Booming. Fiery. Lorelai. In that moment she was wrapped in the voices of her comrades and felt cared for. Not quite a family, but people who care for her in their own way. 

        She wraps the memory around her like a security blanket as she plunges into her notes. There would be no rest tonight. Tomorrow was Reaping Day, her chances of being called were closing in on 4%. There would be plenty of time for rest on the train to the Capitol, but there wouldn’t be any way to take all of this with her, not by the rules of the games. One district token - that’s all you get to take with you. She fumbles the lightning-bolt necklace absentmindedly. 

        Tonight would have to count - she begins with the sections she marked with stuck bits of electrical tape with scrawled labels. Voltaea has always thought the clever victors were the more interesting ones, strategically speaking. She’s tall, a fantastic climber, agile even, but she’s thin from years of living on the edge of fed. She has no weapon skills to speak of, no hand-to-hand fight experience, I suppose if they handed me a screwdriver I might feel familiar enough to stab someone with it. There were always ways around this from what she had seen though - the Gamemakers adore a clever killer. Voltaea flips to the section labeled “Victors to learn from”. There was a streak in the 30’s where most of the victors were unconventional or clever in some way - this was her favorite era of games to study and it showed in her notes. 

        She shudders at the visible disorder on the page - her mind was still too full of static back when she had started taking her notes to think of doing any organizing with them. Hair-down Voltaea wrote these notes. Her eyes narrow as she runs a finger down the page. 

        The first name, Selica Vireaux of District One, 35th Games, was crossed out in an angry red - it was half baked of her to think she could follow the act of a woman who talked half of her own alliance members into killing each other and poisoned the rest in increasingly elaborate ways. Voltaea’s mother had once told her “Voltaea, you have the charisma of coal dust” , so she wasn’t sure how that would work out for her.

        To Voltaea, at least from what she had seen of Selica’s televised appearances, the woman had even less. She has the voice of a banshee and dresses like an ugly bird. For some reason beyond comprehension to her, people seem to love this. She would still definitely put Selica down as clever, though. The woman was extremely adept at reading people, shaping herself to meet their expectations, hiding the nasty parts of herself until exactly the right moment - and an encyclopedic knowledge of any substance that could kill someone under the sun. It’s clever. Just not replicable.  

        Haymitch Abernathy of Twelve, 50th Games. He managed to kill his final opponent by using a forcefield around the arena against her. He’d spent a while just working out the mechanics of the thing - throwing stuff over the edge of the arena and watching it bounce back up. When the final career tribute chucked an axe at his head and missed, he crumpled to the ground - the axe came back as expected, right into her skull. Most certainly clever, but relied on a certain amount of luck in figuring out the arena’s secrets, from what she could see. Voltaea wasn’t the strongest with luck-related challenges either, but she could see herself using the arena as a tool. 

        Beetee Latier of District Three, 34th Games, was a much clearer-cut victory of smarts. Six tributes ended up dying at once to one of his elaborate traps made of scavenged arena parts. Impressive. She had a high opinion of District Three in general, not that she’d met anyone from there - the technology she’d seen them use in the arena was always cutting edge. Voltaea thought she would definitely stand a chance of using electricity like Beetee did, given her skillset. She had taken notes on his trap designs to incorporate into her own. 

        She had been avoiding the last name on the page, because if she was chosen tomorrow, this was the woman who would be acting as her mentor, and Voltaea wasn’t sure she liked the prospect given what she knew about the woman’s post-games persona as a darling of the Capitol and television gossip queen. Alara Vox, District Five’s only living victor and winner of the 36th Games. 

        Disgust with her post-games life aside, to Voltaea, Alara Vox had all the makings of someone on the clever winners list. The arena that year was called in the Capitol Press Daily “Avante-Garde and Experimental” - a set of five islands atop an electrified lake, each with a set of shifting glass bridges that moved between them. Alara had figured out early on how to manipulate the environment of the arena - killing two tributes by triggering a bridge collapse (including her own district partner). She got another kill and caused a huge shift in arena dynamics by using a small makeshift fuse to blow up a hidden flamethrower trap that caused a fire which engulfed an entire one of the islands. 

        At the end of her games, it was down to her and the girl from District One - and when the career girl sitting above her had her pinned, gloating about how she was going to crush Alara’s pretty skull for the cameras, she reached up and clawed the girl’s eyes out. It gave her enough of an opening that she was able to seize the advantage and finish the job - entirely with her hands. She’s like a feral cat. Voltaea had noted. 

        When she had asked her mother what she knew about District Five’s mentor, given that they must be around the same age, she spit and called her a traitor. Her father had just told her not to bother him with such stupid questions while he was watching television. It was the librarian’s assistant - a young woman with a voice like soft rainfall who sometimes helped her dig up old articles for her research, that finally gave her slightly more of an answer - “Alara isn’t well liked around here because she’s seen as too Capitol . Rumor has it she’s never even lived in the Victor’s Village - she just moved straight out there to become one of them at the President’s request or something. Someone told me she keeps her nails long to remind everyone of that last kill she made. I think she does that gossip show during the games, the Crimson Cut? I dunno, I’ve always thought that was kind of a conflict of interest myself, given that she’s teaching the kids she’s cackling about the deaths of…” Voltaea tries to listen intently as the woman goes on with her opinions for a while, her words a calming summer storm, but they’re a little too thick to follow entirely. She tries to pick out the important bits from all the chatter. Assimilated to Capitol life. Untrustworthy? Definitely likes to gossip. Ethically conflicting. Voltaea shrugs at her notes about Alara, figuring she’ll have every chance to ask the woman herself if the odds are as stacked against her as she thinks they are. 

        After what seems like an eternity of reading she puts down her notes and finally falls asleep right there on the floor beside the bed. Not for long, but a few fitful hours before the sirens sound - that droning awful deathknell - to mark the beginning of today's ritual. She’s already dressed before Ohma rolls out of bed. Time to face the music.

Chapter Text

Bile: Alara 

        Alara Vox wakes just before noontime, her mouth tasting of copper and chlorine, with a hint of cherry wine. 

        The perfect taste for a Reaping Day, she muses to herself as she leans over the side of the daybed she had apparently laid herself to rest in her stupor the night prior to retch a mixture of bile and half-digested alcohol onto the carpet of the sleeper car. She never was a big drinker - or she would often tell people this, anyways. Alara Vox’s first and truest chemical love was stimulants - except on the night before Reaping Day. She’d had too many messy ones not to admit to it then.

         It was the only way she could wind her thoughts down enough to sleep those nights - a combo of high-grade sleeping pills, cherry wine, and a touch of morphling for good measure. Selica Vireaux had taught her the trick with the morphling and the wine - Alara has it on good authority that's exactly what she uses to calm her nerves before she goes on air every night. What a treasure that woman is to the world of debauchery. 

        It’s not so much the tributes that drive her to drink. She has fun making them pretty, parading them around with the other mentors, sometimes even trying to sculpt a killer out of the scraps. There’s been a few she had even thought could go the distance - not spectacularly, like she had, mind you - but they could have won with a little more shaping . All failures, all her failures. She tried not to dwell on it, the Hunger Games are just games afterall, as Selica would so often remind her during their yearly broadcasts together - usually when one of the District One woman’s own tributes would take out one of Alara’s. She feels her teeth grinding together. I would give up amphetamines if they’d send me a monster this year to wipe that smug little smirk off her fucking face . She catches herself slipping, and breathes deeply. Calm, Collected, Controlled.  

        She did try - tried her very best to shape the silly, broken little things they sent her into objects worthy of the Capitol’s adoration, of victory . It was more than her own mentor had done for her - the old man had won during one of the first years of the Games, then was yanked out of the coal plants in Five that he insisted he keep working in for mentoring duties once a year until his death six weeks after Alara’s victory. Oh, what a tragic accident that was. 

        He had told her the best thing she could do for herself in that arena was to die pretty. Terrible advice, for a victor, she ignored him. Alara chuckles to herself and rolls onto her side to grab a nearby carafe of lightly lemon-flavored sparkling water to sip on without bothering to pour it into a cup. 

        Truly, The thing that drives her to drink is the awful, acrid smog that she swears drifts further and further outside of District Five’s borders every year. She can’t sleep with that smell, strong enough to taste, worming its way through the ventilation system of the train from the Capitol - so she pours herself an Alara Sunset and spends her night in blissful oblivion each year rather than dwelling on it all. Then in the morning, she calls her team to clean her up, lace her corset, and shape her back into the coiffed and curled version of Alara that the cameras craved. 

        She presses a single, obsidian-lacquered finger into the button for the intercom that runs through the train, using the pointed claw tip to make a satisfying click noise. Her voice, practiced, poised, and perfect , purrs through the microphone, “Orville, be a dear and send my prep team, I can smell District Five already and I'd like to be presentable before we arrive this year.” Orville had been their district escort for two, three? Alara couldn't remember exactly how many years now. He was more useful than the last one, and that's what counts. She glances at the pool of wine-retch soaking into the plush, opal-shimmering carpet of her sleeper car. “And a cleaner, if you would, darling.”

        She sighs breathlessly into the rose-perfumed air of the sleeper car - Like you could cover up the stench of district desperation with roses - trying to claw through the fog of her nighttime consumption. She grabs a mirrored tray off the coffee table to examine herself, using a finger to swipe the remaining stimulant powder from its surface and licks it clean, savoring the chemical, numbing taste that seeps into her gum line. It does nothing to calm the tremor that has made its home in her right hand - long term stim use - the Capitol's doctors had advised her to slow down, and began urging her to stop entirely as she crossed into her 40's. She scoffed at the idea. Imagine being a victor and letting someone dull your edge like that. 

        At fourty-one, Alara was still just as stunning as she had been when she stepped off the train into the Capitol at seventeen all those years ago to win her Hunger Games. Now some of that, she can admit, is owed to a crack team of surgeons and stylists who curate her sharp, serpentine, signature look year after year. She takes inventory of herself in her mirrored compact - every clinging red curl atop her head seems out of place right now, and she frowns at her reflection. Gods above I need a spa day. The makeup from her eyes and lips have blended with her foundation powder and dripped halfway down her face. She is dabbing away the evidence of her excesses when Orville walks in with a throng of chattering stylists and a lone, distraught-looking cleaner toting a rolling cart of pungent-smelling chemicals. 

        “So glad you could make it, darling!” Alara flashes her best smirk for Orville, and ignores the rest of the flock who begin setting up to piece her back together for the cameras. Hair to the back, makeup to the front. Alara shifts into place and stiffens herself for styling. Orville is a stout boy, barely 30, all blue-powder suits and lavender cologne - Alara found it almost charming how his beady little eyes always widened in fear whenever she spoke to him. “We can’t be far now, can we? How is it that no one thought to wake me sooner?” Alara knows very well that she told the boy last night she wasn’t to be roused before noontime, but she did like to watch him squirm. 

        “Ma’am-” She cut him off before he had the chance to continue the mistake he had started. 

        “It’s Alara, don’t age me with your formalities, Orville.” Just the right dose of venom, to keep in practice - it’s Hunger Games season, afterall.

        “Yes, sorry, Alara. I was ah.” Orville starts fidgeting with the jeweled tie he wears over his suit - one of her favorite tells he has. 

        “Nevermind, Orville, we can discuss your inability to defend yourself later.” She waves a clawed hand dismissively and tilts her head back for the stylist in front of her to wipe the remainder of last night’s makeup from her face. “Fill me in on the other Districts who have picked so far. The ones who count, anyway.” she stops abruptly to snap at a nearby stylist and motion for him to grab her a cigarette “Remember, details matter .” Alara lets the stylist light the cigarette for her, taking a long drag of the earthy, ashy tasting smoke, and lets it painfully pour out of her nose - a move that makes her eyes water but kills the cloyingly strong smell of cleaning chemicals that had been digging their teeth into her growing headache. Better.

        Orville straightens himself up and pulls a datapad from the violet-feathered bag he carries over his shoulder. What an adorable attempt at confidence. “The only Districts who have gone so far are one, two and three - of those, obviously the Career Districts are always a threat - do we start there?” Alara nods sharply at him. Of course I mean the Careers you moron. 

        “District One’s stronger contender this year is probably their girl - Cymbria Vale, eighteen, fully trained and - oh my - she does have that icy stare the Capitol crowd loves.” Alara rolls her eyes involuntarily at his growing excitement, she’ll take him down a peg once she has her intel. “Your friend Selica is going to have her hands full with this one - it says in our records that she ‘accidentally’ stabbed a classmate half to death during a training exercise - with a dulled blade no less.” 

        The last thing that woman needs is another godsforsaken victory under her belt, Cymbria needs to be taken down a peg. Alara has to stop and give her best scandalized look to the wardrobe technician who pulls out a pink dress of all things for her Reaping Day outfit. She makes a mental note to have him reassigned to an outlier district later. “Tell me her boy is useless, at least?” 

        “Marcelus Glint, another eighteen. He’s absolutely beautiful - hah - how could he pull off that little mustache without that bone structure? Does not appear to have much going on between those wonderfully symmetrical ears of his though. He has some skill with a sword, but nothing remarkable compared to our usual career picks. Still - the sponsors will love him” This was why she liked Orville - just a bit - he has that slight sense of gamesmanship about him that makes him a good person to get these initial impressions from. Of course she would comb through every file herself later - after she had her own little lambs to shepherd through the slaughterhouse this year - but this would give her something to mull over while she watches the Reaping from the comfort of her daybed over a glass of pomegranate juice and vodka. 

        Orville takes a moment to refresh himself on the District Two tributes while Alara verbally lashes the pink-dress-suggestor and demands a new slate of wardrobe options in a less insulting shade. The coal-smog is visible outside the train car window now, and it’s becoming harder for her to ignore the smell. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the wardrobe cart and relaxes a little when she notices that her cascading curls have fallen back into nearly perfect order. She hears pink-dress in the hallway just outside of her car asking some other unfortunate soul Why Vox needs an outfit so badly if she's going to just sit in her train car getting high all afternoon and feels an involuntary sneer cross her face. The other individual, either very intelligent or very cowardly, wisely chooses not to reply to this question within such clear earshot of Alara’s private car. By the time the wardrobe techs return with a more palatable selection, Alara has spun her face back into consummate composure. Wouldn’t do to let this one know I’m onto him just yet, where would be the fun in that? 

        “Anyways, District Two…” She snaps her fingers abruptly as Orville begins to speak again. 

        “Wait, hang on. This one -” Alara points to a boldly bright red-blue-and-orange blazer with skirt combo made of a sort of reflective, shimmering fabric, “-says respectable, dangerous, and Capitol all at once, don’t you think?” pink-dress nods hopefully, not realizing this will likely be the last time he ever styles anyone this important in his lifetime. A sharp crackle precedes the voice from the intercom. 

        -”We will be arriving in District Five in ten minutes.”- 

        “Better make it quick then, Orville” Alara says as though she wasn’t the one who just cut him off, and sheds her crimson silk robe without a shred of modesty. She allows the prep team to cinch her into her outfit as the round-faced boy burns a fiery red and tries to resume speaking without making eye contact. They’re so easy to embarrass these days. 

        “ Ahem. District Two’s girl this year is Cassia Brigg, only seventeen, but I think she’s probably got arms bigger than my head judging by this picture. She beat out the entire class of eighteens in Two this year for the privilege to volunteer, so I’d say she’s a strong contender.” Alara can’t contain the shudder at the word privilege . Real survivors never walk straight into the fight, that’s why we win. She would never repeat this thought to Selica, who had in her time happily volunteered to walk into her own arena for the glory of it all. 

        Suddenly, as though on cue to her indiscrete thoughts, the phone in the sleeper car begins to ring. Is it that time already? 

        “Orville, see to it that everything is taken care of from here and my little lambs make it aboard without issue. This will be Selica, calling to gloat before the cards have fallen, as usual.” The round boy nods and motions for the prep team to follow him. Alara quickly glances in the mirror again. Not a hair out of place, a crease unintended, or a smudge on her face. Perfection. 

        She sprawls comfortably on the bed and picks up the phone, balancing it deftly on her shoulder. The wheels of the train begin to whine faintly, even  as she answers - a sure sign that they’re closing into the station in Five. “Selica, darling, I was just picking up the phone myself to congratulate you on Cymbria - what a find ! I imagine having another frosty personality to match your own will be such a treat for you this year.” Her voice drips with faux cheer and a hint of venom - a well practiced game of friendly veiled barbs that the two have been playing for years. They’re like sisters. Very deadly, trauma-forged sisters. “Gods know you’ll need all the luck you can get, I’ve seen the files on your boy. He is beautiful bloodbath bait, I will give you that.” Selica’s shrill, slicing laugh cuts through the receiver. Alara cuts herself a line of the latest designer stimulants from the Capitol, breaking up the neat pink powder on her mirrored tray like it was an act of worship. 

        “Oh Alara dear, I’ve missed your desperation. Do you think they’ll send you something more useful than last year this time? I seem to recall my boy gutting yours in the first twelve seconds - that has to be some kind of record!” Alara did recall this, and the incident of her own that followed where she had taken too many stims with her wine to cover the embarrassment before a mentor gala that evening and spent the entire night a blubbering mess with Ismene Lux from District Eight of all people. Ugh . She hasn’t spoken to the woman since, and she is not looking forward to having to host coverage of the games this year with her and Selica. 

        That had been President Snow’s brilliant plan for the three of them after they had won their games back-to-back. Just after Ismene strangled the last tribute in the 37th games with a silk nightgown she got as a sponsor gift and broke into tears as the anthem blazed he had summoned her and Selica to his mansion with a proposition. The two of them could continue to stay in the Capitol unabated, with full accommodations, and they would leverage their immense popularity to reign in the spark that the tragic, weeping seamstress from eight had ignited in the districts in the most Capitolian way possible - with a gossip show, staffed by former victors, commentating on the Games themselves. 

        When she thought back on it, all Alara could remember was that Ismene had just been so. fucking. sad . the entire time she was on screen during her games - all luscious black locks and teary blue eyes. Spent half the games hiding out in a blown out factory block looking starved and weepy with her lips just perfectly pursed for the cameras. Those bathtime strip teases by the river out back were for the sponsors. So were the tears. Alara hated her. The Capitol ate her up. She was a tragedy in the Districts, and a massive riot broke out in Eight in the wake of a broadcast where she sang some tearful operatic number about dead children into a camera drone she had captured and tangled in a net to watch herself. 

        Selica had applauded her theatrics - thought the girl was brilliant -  Alara can practically hear her saying ‘Oh, of course, Mr. President sir, what better way to sell a propaganda show than to bring on the girl who started the riots?’ Alara hated to admit she was right. Snow just smirked through his blood-stained teeth while he let the two of them figure it out for themselves. The Crimson Cut had taken form in the ashes of this meeting and skyrocketed to near the top of the ratings. They had even taken to hosting an abridged version in the offseason to keep up with victor gossip and stage silly pointless interviews with Gamemakers and high-dollar sponsors where they never really gave any useful information anyways.  

        Alara, of course, had been the one to break Ismene. She hated her even more for how easy it was to get her on board. Not a revolutionary bone in her body, no matter what she likes to play at for the cameras - and she does play it up. Those tears are all calculated little attention grabbers. Gorgeous, camera-ready histrionics abound with her. A small part of Alara, a broken part she keeps shoved away for safekeeping, hates that she could never get away with such an act. Not when I’m such an artist. She thinks to herself as she files the points of her nails back into perfect clawed-tips. 

        “Alara, are you even listening? That’s the third time you’ve answered a detail-oriented question with ‘of course, darling’, I know your tells!” Selica barks in a tone that drags Alara back out of her head and into the sleeper car. 

        “Yes, of course I am, it’s just that you know how I get this close to home…” Her voice softens a bit. This is calculated too - for Selica’s benefit of course - not for sympathy. She just knows the woman loves a sob story. It gives her something to cry into her wine about later. Keeps her from probing too much into whatever Alara’s really thinking. 

        “Nevermind that, Alara dear, it’s already forgotten. Anyways, I think Orwell-” 

        “Orville.” corrects Alara. One point to me.

        “Yes, whatever , the boy with the terrible powder blue suits. You should turn on your television because I can see him taking the stage.” It was now that Alara had realized the train was no longer moving - that she could no longer hear Orville and his team running up and down the narrow corridors between compartments babbling about whatever incessant stupid things they did. How long have I been wandering for? Where’s my straw? Has she just been rambling on like this for an hour already?

        Alara fumbles on the table for a moment until her hands meet a customized metal straw with an ornate cursive “A” imprinted on the side in gold leaf, then breathes a deep sigh of relief. She takes the tray of stims she cut herself earlier, and loudly snorts the entirety. She can judge all she wants, the old drunk has nothing on me. Alara feels her brain begin humming to life - every synapse lining itself up to fire in perfect rhythm - finally focused. She pulls herself up from the daybed for a moment, leaving the receiver on the table, to turn on the television - Selica was right, the round boy and his hideous suit had indeed taken the stage. She picked the phone back up. 

        “You were saying?” Alara tunes out Orville’s speech - nothing she hasn’t heard before - it’s not like they ever change it . 

        “I think Cymbria has victory in her blood, I can feel it!” Selica always has a favorite. 

        “I think you should wait until you see who else we’re competing with, before you put all your eggs in one basket like you did in the 55th.” Alara can taste the chemical burn of the stims running down the back of her throat and sucks the drip with an ugly slurp. 

        “I do wish they’d speed this part along, I want to get to the good bits!” Selica has ignored her comment, but Alara notes that she doesn’t mention Cymbria again for the rest of their call. Two points to me.

        “It looks like he’s wrapping up, I think that’s the mayor off to the side there with the names of our lucky winners.” Alara noted the short, wiry looking woman with the bold glasses and her aide struggling to push a cart with two enormous glass balls full of paper slips up a rough ramp onto the stage.  

        “May the odds be ever in our favor!” chirps Selica, but Alara is already tuning her mind to the screen - ready to take in every moment of this year's tributes - to see if they give her someone with real potential this time. 

        Orville speaks more confidently in front of the crowd of District rabble than he ever has in her presence - not a shake, tremor, or blush out of place. She can practically taste the smog through the closed windows but it doesn’t seem to faze the Capitol boy at all. I’ll break him a little extra for that, later. 

        “As always, ladies first!” He says with that accented flourish all the district escorts seem to have drilled into them from birth. She watches - barely remembering to breathe - as the round boy has to stand up on his toes to reach into the reaping ball and pull out the first name. She can feel the stims itching at the base of her spine, the tremor in her hand spiking from the nerves or the drugs - or both. Hurry up and read it! Alara digs her nails into her thighs to steady herself, leaving angry red welts where the clawed tips press the hardest. He has to motion for the mayor to come over briefly, whispering something to her off-mic. Is he a fucking illiterate? What is the hold up?

        “Voltaea Amprole!” Orville reads the name off with such a strange emphasis on every vowel that Alara is certain he’s botched it entirely. All the while, the round boy is looking over at the mayor who nods slightly in affirmation but looks mortified. Definitely can’t read. Idiot. Alara scans the crowd to try and catch a glimpse of her girl for the year and catches sight of the tell-tale parting of bodies that marks the dead one walking somewhere in the section of sixteens. Oh good, there’s real potential for a contender at that age - and still mouldable! As a treat. 

        It doesn’t quite register with Alara just how tall the girl walking up to the stage is until she’s standing next to Orville towering at least a full head above him, because she’s too busy focusing on how severe looking she is. The young woman in front of her is all harsh lines, sharp angles, practiced posture - icy pale with the type of military-smooth hairstyle that she knows must be a chore to keep so neat in such a nasty environment. Striking, not soft. Bladed, not beautiful. The stims make her teeth itch. 

        The girl’s face doesn’t move an inch when she starts to move - eyes forward - steely and glaring. There isn't so much as a twitch out of place as she mounts the ramp to the stage. Alara’s nails dig into her thigh harder. She can taste the blood and chemical cocktail in her mouth centering her like prayer beads. The girl walks like she has rehearsed this moment in her head nightly for years, like this was expected, like she knew her whole life was culminating in this moment. She looks like Alara had tried to on her own Reaping Day, but she's pulling it off without a hint of effort or a shred of doubt on her face. 

        Calm, Collected, Controlled. Alara’s breath hitches in her throat for a moment before she yells at Selica to “Shut up and let me think!” through the receiver - breaking the flow of whatever the other woman was babbling about and leaving static silence between them for a moment. The girl still doesn’t let her face shift for even a second as Orville fumbles through his congratulations and prompts the audience to applaud. 

        Alara can’t see anyone in the crowd who seems… particularly concerned for the young woman. She doesn’t see her scanning for loved ones, either, not like some of her others have. There’s one girl who looks about ten near the front who’s bawling - she can’t tell if they’re related - they don’t look much alike, anyways. Unattached. Which means she comes to me a little broken, that explains the stiffness. This keeps getting better. 

        Selica pipes up again and says something about “Stone-faced killers” that Alara largely misses as she fixates on the young woman on the stage - trying to pick apart the cracks in her armor - finding the pieces that will let her mould the steel-edged woman with the unblinking stare in front of her into a victor. Into her victor. She finds her puzzle piece when she looks into Voltaea’s eyes and sees the sheer, looming exhaustion behind them. She doesn’t sleep. Not well, anyways. 

        “Selica darling, you know I love your ‘ insights ’ more than the air I breathe, but I think this is where I have to hang up today.” Alara grins - a real, earnest, full faced grin she can’t pull back. “I’ve just realized that I’m going to be beating you this year and I’d rather not show any more of my hand before the time is right. Ciao!” 

        “Alara you haven’t even seen your boy yet how do you…” Alara has already hung up the receiver before Selica can finish her sentence. Three points to Alara for this call, Selica. I win. Her mind sparks with genuine excitement for the first time in years . She has a weapon to forge. She just watched her first victor walk up onto that stage and there is nothing that can convince her otherwise. She sees too much of her own control in the young woman’s face to doubt it. Alright, Voltaea. Let’s make a winner out of you. 

        Alara Vox, clad in shining tri-color Capitolian fashion and absolutely vibrating with energy, rises from her daybed without so much as a drink in hand or a pill in pocket and makes her way to the doors of the train. She steps out onto the platform at District Five for the first time in nearly 25 years - smog snaking its way down her throat in a way she’d hoped to never feel again - and flags down one of the Peacekeepers guarding their train. “Take me to the Justice Building. I’d like to escort my tributes this year personally .” 

Chapter Text

Reaping Day: Voltaea

        “As always, ladies first!” Voltaea has to suppress a wave of nausea every time their district escort - Orville Straud - opens his mouth and lets his chirping, sickly voice ring out across the crowd through the crackling static of the speakers. Whoever sets up the stage each year has positioned them in such a way that since her last major growth spurt at fourteen, the largest and loudest of them ring directly into her ears. It’s worse now, with the issues from the fall - she has to dig her fingernails into the scar in her hand just to keep her face composed. If today really is the day, they won’t get anything from me.

        She steels herself as the round, chirping, pastel-clad man stands up on his toes to grab a name from the reaping ball. He opens it. Looks it over. Just read the name. Just let it be done. There’s a distinct crunch of static as Orville cuts his mic suddenly and motions the mayor over for a second. Voltaea squints at his lips - it looks like he’s asking her how to pronounce the name on the paper. What an idiot. He smooths his tie out performatively before clicking the microphone back to life.  

        “Voltaea Amprole!” He says her name in such a strange, sharp staccato - emphasizing all the wrong sounds somehow - that she almost doesn’t recognize it as her own. When he speaks it's like every word he says has a chirp in it that doesn’t belong there, and his words come through his nose in a way that makes him sound like he has a constant head cold. She stands there thinking about how strange the man’s voice is until the crowd parts in front of her like she's carrying a plague. Shit. It’s me, isn’t it?

        She won’t let herself slip. She breathes deeply. Calm . She hears every whisper from the crowd worm its way into her ears as she walks forward - the wind picks up from a whistle to a howl and rakes across the back of her neck like a static shock -  her feet kick up a sharp patch of gravel that scrapes against her boots and makes her skull twitch. Collected. She hears Ohma’s sharp little sobs as she reaches the stage but can’t bring herself to look or even so much as blink lest she let the mask fall in front of everyone. Controlled. Voltaea feels her eyes scan the crowd as she steps onto the stage and Orville Straud grabs her hand to raise it above her head and prompt for applause - but she doesn’t take it in. She just loses her thoughts in the noise. 

        Her mind doesn’t wander back until the chirping, sickly-sounding man pulls the next paper slip from the ball - a boy this time - and one whose name she vaguely recognizes from her sister’s soft-spoken stories about school. “Coulomb Vexel” She recalled that Ohma was friends with his younger sister, though that girl would have only had a year gap with her brother as opposed to our five. Will it hurt her more when he dies than it will Ohma when I do? She watches as the boy - barely twelve - with the messy blonde hair and shaking hands walks up towards the stage and immediately trips on the ramp with a deafening clump - breaking into cloyingly crisp tears as Orville and the mayor help him up onto the stage. She closes her eyes then - between the shock-blonde boy on the stage and her sister in the crowd - she can’t parse the thoughts coming in between the sobs anymore. Not with that incessantly loud sunlight pouring into her pupils. 

        She hears the chirping man begin his sickly song again - he’ll be getting ready to move them off the stage soon, she remembers this from watching Reapings in the past. One last chance to see her family - to see Ohma - then she’ll be off on the cashmere-draped cattle cars to the Capitol. She can’t work out what anyone is saying over the growing drone of the crowd - rousing from their stupor once more to hug their living children and to forget the dead ones. 

        It’s not until she feels a slick, gloved hand clap her on the shoulders that she opens her eyes again and sees Orville’s round face and flapping lips come much too close for comfort . He’s practically pushing her off the stage - she still can’t work out what he’s chirping about. Moments later, they walk her through the clanging, half-corroded doors of District Five’s Justice Building. She remembers that Markus once told her that the entire building was repurposed from an old munitions factory sometime before even the Games themselves existed. Nowadays, he told her another time - more hushed, whispered, secretive - it’s just there to show us that we can’t fight back. As they enter, the drone of the crowd fades to a dull background hum and the Peacekeepers bring in their families. They close the doors behind them with a thunderous, clong . Deeper than a clang. More final.  

        She feels the room come back into focus as the doors close and the noise becomes discernible - she starts to feel out the melody of the room around her once more. There’s a low, thumping rhythm coming from below the floorboards - a boiler, maybe. It flows in time with the crackling hum of the overhead lights that hang far above on the vaulted ceiling of the main room. Little Coulomb’s bleak cries blend with the buzzing in her left ear to form the chorus - and she realizes she doesn’t hear Ohma sobbing anymore. Maybe she’s given up on me. Good. It’s better that way. 

        Voltaea’s thoughts are cut off when she feels the soft thump against her back and whirls to see the wiry, wispy form of her sister wrap herself around her legs. “V, I’m so sorry! I failed and I’m so sorry!” her voice has that static edge of sadness that makes Voltaea’s ears scream, and she bends down to wrap her sister in a hug - It won’t stop her this time, she knows it’s the last time. 

        Voltaea steels herself before she speaks - knowing anything she says could backfire and make the static turn to screams. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Ohma. This was just the odds. They’ve never been in my favor.” She shoots a glare at her parents with far more venom behind it than she intends - but the look clearly lands with her father who shrinks back, carrying Davo’s writhing, giggling form with a grim nod to Voltaea before turning away from his daughter for the last time. Of course he’s laughing. They’ll always give him space to laugh. A harder part of herself reminds her that the boy doesn’t understand, not really, anyways. It brings her no comfort right now. 

        Her mother stays put - without a word, six feet away - just standing there with that blank, guilty stare she always gives her on Reaping Day. Maybe with a little more contempt, today, or something else? Ohma manages to choke out some words again - but less staticy, less shrill. Good. “I didn’t finish your bracelet…” Voltaea has to stifle the sudden urge to laugh. That’s what she’s worried about? 

        “I still have your necklace, see?” Voltaea pulls out the lightning-bolt shaped pendant made of bent scrap wire from under the collar of her Reaping Day shirt. “They’ll only let me take one thing into the arena, anyways. District token.” She shuffles uncomfortably for a moment - trying to summon the most words she has in a long time. “Besides - I like this one. I was wearing it the day of the accident. Maybe that’s why I’m not dead yet.” She forces a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “Good luck charm?” Voltaea isn’t entirely certain she believes that last part, but says it anyways, as a question and a comfort. She owes her sister that much. 

        Ohma’s shrill little sobs come back in rhythmic time again, but quieter. Manageable. The girl wraps her arms even tighter around Voltaea, who she stays on her knees - afraid that if she tries to stand that the tiny, shaking girl will drag her back down anyways. She can’t afford an injury right now. 

        Voltaea’s mother had once told her that trying to hug her was like trying to hug a cable tower - all stiff and rigid, can’t she relax for a second? Ohma doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe she’ll find work in the wires too, one day - away from them - like I did. Her mind drifts with the thought - it brings her a degree of comfort. She thinks to herself that if her parents force her sister to go, to do what she did for the family. Maybe it would be okay. Her sister was softer than she was, prettier, more carefree - that could hold her back. She bites that thought down in favor of the more comforting narrative. 

        Markus and the others could take care of her. She’d be free, happy, away from them. She wishes for a moment she could have thought of this sooner, maybe brought up the idea with her gravel-voiced foreman so he could train her up early, get the fear of the winds out of her like he had with Voltaea. She notices her mother walking towards them then - her mouth opens as if she’s about to say something. 

        CLANG . The doors to the Justice Building swing open again - and every head in the building, from her sister to her mother to little Coulomb’s whole clan, turns towards them. This is not a planned event. She thinks back to past Reaping Days and comes up blank. Nobody ever goes into the building after the Tributes leave with the Escort. They just take them out the back to the trains when their hour is up, the building shouldn’t open again until tomorrow. She stiffens. The static rises in her brain. Plans don’t change on Reaping Day, it’s the same speech, the same schedule, the same sickly, chirping man in the ugly pastel suit. She has to dig her nails into her palm again to remember to breathe as the throng of white-clad Peacekeepers march into the room with a perfect, plodding, rhythm - another striking, sharper set of steps following just out of time with the rest. What’s going on?  

        The Peacekeepers part to close the door behind them. Clong. She hears the woman before she sees her. It’s a voice like velvet - soft and silken - that snakes its way up Voltaea’s spine. “Hello-o-o?” it's slightly smokey and singed at the edges with that Capitol affectation, but from her, it sounds like song. That’s when she sees Alara Vox in the flesh for the first time. She’s clad in the loudest blazer-and-skirt combo that Voltaea has ever laid eyes on - it seems to be spun in several different colors that do not match - and the shining material it's made of send clattering reflections off the buzzing lights overhead in a way that makes her ears ring when she looks at it too closely. She focuses on the woman’s face instead. Better. Quieter. 

        She watches the woman with the serpentine red curls and the loud blazer and the voice that swirls like a siren song as she scans the room - looking for something specific. It’s clearly not Coulomb, as when her gaze scans the corner of the room where he’s curled up in his mother and sister’s arms sobbing those sharp little sobs of his - she scowls, viscerally, as if his show of weakness is a personal affront to her. Why is she here? Doesn’t she always stay on the train? Aren’t we all supposedly beneath her? The static in Voltaea’s ears gets louder again - the chaos of the changes in the room’s rhythm threatening her the carefully constructed control she has of herself right now. 

        Alara’s emerald eyes finally meet her own and she sees something distinctive flare up in them. Recognition. She sees me. She stiffens, feels Ohma’s grip loosen slightly, breathes too sharply. Ethically conflicting, loud blazer, gossip hound, velvet voice, district pariah, Capitol queen, cold-blooded killer, clever victor. Voltatea is going through all the notes she can remember about Alara to prepare herself when she hears the woman snap her fingers with a loud crack, then a slight scape of her claw-like nails as they connect for just a moment in the motion. “ There you are !” Voltaea digs her own nails into her scar again to silence the shiver that crawls up her spine as Alara drags out every syllable of the word there like she’s savouring the very taste of it. 

        Click, click, click, click. Voltaea counts the sharp sound of Alara's crimson heels as she closes the gap between them. Ohma tries to cling to her legs harder as she rises to her feet, pinching her back into the practiced posture she uses to piece herself together under pressure. Her mother is frozen two feet away - breath shallow and ragged sounding - face filled with some expression Voltaea thinks might actually be fear. Her mother has very deliberately averted her eyes from the woman talking towards them. The click, click, click of the woman’s heels stop abruptly as she finally takes that grating green gaze off of her for a moment to turn it to Voltaea’s mother, sizing her up like an apex predator looking for its next meal. The single, silken, sentence that drips from Alara’s lips is laced with so much poison that Voltaea can practically feel it burning down her throat. “Teslene - you’ve aged dreadfully .” Voltaea feels herself smile a bit in spite of herself, but bites it back when she thinks better of it. Huh. That usually happens the other way around. She remembers a moment when her mother had told her that the way she wore her Reaping Day shirt tucked into her pants made her look like an old man and has to bite back a giggle at the tables turning. 

        Teslene Amprole’s face turns a shade of violent, angry red that neither of her daughters have seen her wear before. Where’s your composure gone to, mother? Voltaea notes it’s almost the same shade as Alara’s coiffed capitolian curls are - just a touch darker, like blood. She hears her mother’s breath come out in short scoff - but she says nothing to the siren singing next to her. Just turns to the girls - Ohma, really - she doesn’t meet Voltaea’s eyes even in these last moments. Whatever she wanted to say was gone the second Alara strode her way through the room in that sharp, clicking chorus of hers. “Say your goodbyes to your sister. It’s time to go. Now .” her voice is shaky until the last word. That one comes out sharp. Final. Another sound joins the song again - the shrill sobs of her sister. 

        Voltaea bends down and a hand on each of her sister’s shoulders - releasing her nails from her palm for the first time in what feels like eternity. “You’re gonna have to be strong without me for a while, okay?” she reaches up one hand to wipe her sister’s tears. “No more of this, not for me.” the sobs simmer back to a bearable point. 

        “Promise me you’ll come back? I know you can win… I’ve seen your notes, they’re really good! I was reading them when you fell asleep one night with the box open. You know so much - you just have to have a chance, right?” The static in her ear begins to scream at that pitch that drowns her thoughts out. I was supposed to protect her. She was never supposed to see that. She shouldn’t have to think about killing like that. Her heartbeat is too loud right now - she feels the baseline thrumming in her throat like it’s trying to force a scream. Voltaea doesn’t notice when she lets her hands fall from her sister’s shoulders in a slump and starts burying her nails into her scar again - the pain creeping up her arm like a live current to tune her brain back to the moment. Calm. She breathes, deep and decisive, until she feels the baseline retreat to a relaxed rhythm. Collected. She uses her free hand to smooth her hair back, centering her thoughts in the tightness around her temples. Controlled.  

        She doesn’t scream - she’s drowned the sound within herself again. Instead, she steels, and looks into her sister's eyes for what she hopes in her deepest heart isn’t the last time. “I promise. I’ll come back.” Voltaea’s words are the hardest she has ever heard - there’s real weight there this time. Unexpected. Her sister nods once. Understood. She isn’t sobbing, the static starts to clear. Unbelievable. When her mother puts a hand on Ohma’s shoulder to lead her away - she doesn’t fight anymore, just gives Voltaea a last, solemn wave before departing to the side door of the building where her father and Davo have been waiting for gods-know-how-long now looking gutless and guilty as always and make their exit well before their allotted time is over. Goodbye, Ohma. 

        When she looks back to Alara, she finds that glint in her eyes again - the one directed right at her that seems to just say I see you . Coulomb lets out a particularly pained squeal from somewhere behind and Voltaea feels her face contort - just a momentary lapse in composure - but it’s enough to send her nails even deeper into her hand to silence the static. Alara clicks a few steps closer - until they’re just about at arm’s length apart. Voltaea has to tilt her head down just slightly to keep eye contact because of her height, she’s half a head taller than the woman before her even with the advantage she’s getting from the heels, but she’s determined not to look a coward like her mother did. 

        Voltaea can feel that silken, snaking voice coil even tighter around her spine when Alara speaks - the sound is palpably stronger with proximity “So, tell me. How exactly do you pronounce your name? I can only assume Orwell has completely butchered the attempt.” Every word she emphasizes strums a chord across her spine. The shiver comes back, then a bang from the boiler below - lights buzzing - Coulomb sobbing. Alara Vox gouged someone's eyes out with those claws, do not show her fear. Her nails are tap-tap-tapping against the strangely shiny material of her blazer as she stands there with her arms crossed performatively - one razor-red eyebrow standing at attention - waiting. 

        When Voltaea finally speaks, her words come out sharp and striking - it’s the voice she uses when she’s trying to explain things to Jakobi while they’re working and Markus isn’t around to clap sense into the boy himself. A teaching voice, or her attempt at one. “Volt - ay - uh Amp - roll” she watches for any sign of reaction or response from Alara but sees none, not even a blink. Composed.  

        She decides to prod that composure just a little, though she isn’t sure what possesses her to think it’s safe to do so in the face of Alara’s feral-cat-like gaze. It’s something she does with Ohma a lot these days. She does this with Jakobi at work too sometimes too, for fun. She thinks he's best to mess with because he isn’t very smart and his retorts just make her laugh harder. " It's like familial bonding out here” , Markus had said when she first asked why everyone on the crew seemed to tease each other constantly. She used to take it too personally, he told her, “ it’s a game we play, Amprole, you just have to learn the rules and it’ll be fun for you too”. Her voice softens a little - this part took practice, or people took her words the wrong way - “you have to soften the bite in your words, Amprole, it’s just a tap not a boxing match” . 

        She finally speaks; “He was sort of close, with help, but he chirps too much - it makes his accent sound even stranger than yours does.” 

        The tap-tap-tapping of the claws is suddenly silent, though Voltaea can still see the woman’s hand shaking slightly after she stops. Alara throws her head back, curls cascading in crimson, and lets out a deep, genuine, cashmere-coated cackle that makes the thundering bassline of her heartbeat return to her throat in response. The static in her ears thins but her head still feels like it’s swimming in the sound. A sudden, striking, clap of Alara’s hands brings her up for air as the older woman tilts her head back to meet Voltaea’s eyes again. Alara lets out a deep, performatively satisfied sigh. Controlled . 

        “Funny and ferocious!” The note of praise in Alara’s voice wraps around her like a warm blanket. Voltaea feels the side of her mouth work itself into a smirk without her telling it to. She thinks I’m funny. “Darling, when I saw you walk onto that Reaping stage today I knew we were going to do great things together and you just keep proving me right.” She winks and Voltaea’s face feels like she just touched a live cable again - burning. 

        It's then that Alara steps closer, and leans in for a moment. She feels that silky voice slink its way inside her again and shudders. It's a whisper now, a single thread of confession coiled between them. “ I do love to be right.” 

        I don’t want her to be wrong about me, either. She feels her brows furrowing, her hands clench - starts to breathe into the rhythm of the boiler below again to calm herself. She doesn’t speak, though. Just lets the static silence hang between them again as Alara leans back to size her up with that cat-like gaze. Voltaea realizes that the woman’s right hand never stops shaking - it's a tremor of some sort - She recalls that Lorelai at work has one, from an old shock injury. After what feels like hours - Though the clock above the door says it's only been a minute or so of this - Voltaea summons her speech again. “Your hand” she gestures towards the clawed appendage with the constant tremor. “Did you injure it in your games?” 

        Alara blinks at her and cocks her head to the side. She didn’t expect my question. She smiles with every perfectly-sculpted tooth in full view this time, then shakes her head. “No.” Is her voice softer now?. Alara raises up three fingers - on her left hand, the one that doesn’t shake - and then puts one finger down. “Two more guesses.” 

        “I’ll need to think about them first.” The response is automatic, she surprises herself by speaking - though her tone is clipped and calculated. Thinking tones.  

        The grin hasn’t left Alara’s face. “I’ll give you ‘till we get to the Capitol, darling.” She raises a single, clawed hand to shake Voltaea’s own. The silken sound rings in her ears again. 

        She weighs the thought for a moment - listens to the song in the room once more to center herself - buzz. Sob. bang. Sob. buzz. Breathe, Voltaea. Then nods and take’s Alara’s hand. “Deal.” Her hands are burning hot. Voltaea feels a slight build-up of sweat on her forehead. 

        “Voltaea -” Breathy, soft, lilting - her name sounds like music in Alara’s mouth and she feels her head start to swim again. “- I’m terribly bored here, let's head to the train, shall we?” She doesn’t have time to answer before Alara is pulling her hand to lock the girl into step with the click-click-click of her heels. She almost follows without thinking when she hears the sob ring out over the buzz-bang-buzz of the building’s beat. 

        “Wait, what about Coulomb?” she manages to stammer out as the Peacekeepers by the back doors part to let them through. Alara whips her head to look at her - her eyes narrow, she’s not smiling this time. 

        Her voice has more bite, sharpness, when she asks “Who?” Voltaea motions to the group of blonde, bleary-eyed mourners surrounding the tiny boy. Alara rolls her eyes. “Gods above is that the weepy one in the corner? Please don’t disappoint me now by worrying about him when we have so much to accomplish.” She feels herself clench. I didn’t mean to do that. Shit. Before Voltaea can reply, her mentor speaks once more - this time in a voice that barks and demands attention. “Orville, when his time is up, see to it that the boy makes it to the train in one piece.” Voltaea looks over to see the chirping, sickly sounding man near the main entrance stand up suddenly - straightening his back in response to Alara’s command. She stops for a moment, mulling her words over as if to decide if she’s satisfied, then follows up with - “and if he cries on my good chaise lounge, I will kill you both!” She waves her free hand dismissively, but her words sound like a promise. Alara is already turning away from Orville before she can see his face explode into the same fiery red her mother’s had. Voltaea sees it, though. “Ta!” It’s the last thing she says until they get to the train in five minutes time - short, sharp and slicing.

        She feels Alara’s nails dig into her wrist slightly as she leads them both out the back door of the Justice Building. Quieter than the front - more a metallic creak than a clang . Voltaea braces for the chill as the wind picks up, then tries to spin a tune from the whispers in the breeze and the click-click-clicking of Alara’s heels as the quiet, thumping rhythm of her own walking falls into place in perfect sync beside her. 

Chapter Text

Reaping Day - Alara

        “Hello-o-o!” her voice carries through the air inside the Justice Building - it still tastes of dust and rust, just like it did when she last stepped through the large, decaying metal doors on her own Reaping Day twenty-four years prior. Alara Vox trails into the dingy, oxidizing walls of the repurposed factory escorted by a throng of pristine-white uniformed Peacekeepers looking like the blazing sun in the summer clouds - all warm tones and shining brighter than absolutely anyone else in the room. Orville included - his powder blues simply had nothing on Alara’s signature crimsons. She feels every set of eyes shift to look at her at once - her presence impacts like a bomb no-one expected. She swears she can almost smell the fear in the room - her reputation certainly precedes her. Perfect. 

        Alara isn’t here for their eyes, though. She has exactly one person whose attention she needs to gather for the moment. That would be the young woman with the sharp jawline and the stiff posture and that look of control in her eyes that she knows from personal experience simply can’t be taught in a tribute - not in the time she has them for, anyways. Selica Vireaux can fucking choke on it this year - this is our crown, darling. She can taste victory on her tongue already. Now where are you? She feels the itching of too many stims in her teeth again and narrows her eyes as she scans the room. Primed.

        Oh, yuck. She thinks to herself as she spots the weeping, waffling, mess of a boy in the corner with his doting family who must be her other charge this year. More bloodbath bait. She bites down on her tongue a bit in frustration, the tell-tale copper tang of blood welling up in her mouth. She gives the boy the most scathing scowl she can muster for making her do it. He can at least learn not to cross me before he gets killed. 

        Ismene had once talked at length during a mentor’s gala about how she ‘ frowned’ upon Alara’s habit of distancing herself from her youngest tributes. Truly, it was pragmatism on her part. There hasn’t been a victor younger than 15 in nearly sixty years of Hunger Games - the odds simply aren’t in their favor. ‘Oh but Alara, isn’t it so cruel to kill them in your heart before they even have a chance?’ ugh. She can practically hear that sorrowful, wine-soaked voice drawling in her ear while she just thinks about her. May as well focus on the ones with a chance of making it out alive and save yourself the tears. Ismene likes to cry for the cameras too much for that kind of critical thinking. 

        She feels the blood rush to her head immediately when she sees her, tastes the copper tang on her tongue even stronger now. There’s my future victor. She notices the sobbing girl from the crowd is with her, the one who looks all soft and sad instead of sharp and sculpted. So that is her sister, then. I can still work with this. She’s wrapped around Voltaea’s legs like some sort of shrieking parasitic mutt while her future victor crouches down in an attempt to quiet the sobbing. Alara notices they’re both already looking at her though - and when her eyes meet Voltaea’s she sees something familiar in them. Survival. Fear. She doesn’t want to die. Her pupils dilate - pulse quickens - she has to grit her teeth to stifle the smile that tries to form. Showtime. 

        She raises her hand - black-laquered claws perfectly pointed - and snaps. They really are the best weapon. “ There you are!” Alara makes a point to draw it out a little - to see if she squirms under the spotlight, of course. Her face doesn’t falter, her gaze doesn’t drop, but Alara has always had a true gift for spotting tells. She notices Voltaea’s left hand, sees the fading red lines that strike their way up her arm until disappearing under the too-short sleeves of her white button-down. Oh, what a scar! 

        She notes how the young woman digs her nails into the palm where the scarring is at its worst when Alara speaks and for a moment it’s like looking into a mirror. She lets her thoughts drift to the deep, red welts that form in her upper thighs when she uses that trick herself. We have more in common than I thought, darling. She feels something wholly unfamiliar well up in her chest - like sentimentality perhaps? She mentally notes to ask Ismene about it the next time she’s drunk enough to feel things in front of her. 

        Alara closes the gap between them like a tiger stalking the jungle - clean strides, unwavering eyes. Voltaea is already standing up to meet her - she still doesn’t break eye contact. It’s not until she’s a few feet away that she notices the older woman standing near her future victor looking like she’s seen several ghosts and trying to avoid her gaze like she might catch something if she meets it. It’s been twenty-four years since Alara last saw Teslene, but she’d recognize that sour, sickened, scowl of hers anywhere. The woman was a bully back then of the worst sort. She was born with that soft, sunkissed, blue-eyed brunette look that seemed so effortless back then - though it looks from the dead eyes and the ample wrinkles like the years have been far less kind to her than they have Alara. Before the Capitol had prettied her up and tamed the wilder side into something marketable, she was considered something of an aesthetic tragedy - at least to girls like Teslene who spent their every waking moment mocking her unkempt red curls, her flour-bag book carrier, and her off-center smile. Look how the tables have turned, you hag. Something suddenly clicks together - the soft girl clinging to her victor looks exactly like Teslene did when they were that age. Her daughter - Voltaea’s sister - Oh this keeps getting better. 

        She wants to laugh in her face. Or tell her how much better she is than her. Or taunt her about her long-dead brother - tell her how she still remembers how he died screaming in the arena when she rigged that bridge to fall out from under him. She especially wants to tell her how she did that just for her. 

        ‘ Too dark, Alara dear, take it back several dozen notches’ Sometimes, when her mind starts to sink into that darkness, she likes to summon Selica’s voice from the old days when she was the one to coach her through her first media appearances after her games. Her mentor was nowhere to be found, but the woman from District One had been there. She was the first one she saw when she woke up that day - reborn not as the tragic, wiry, aesthetic disaster with the secret sharpness from District Five but as a true victor in her own right. Not the time to drift into the past - focus! She momentarily wishes she had brought more stims with her, but such is hindsight. Alara settles on lacing her voice with the most viperous, venomous tone she can muster and simply says “Teslene, you’ve aged dreadfully. ”

        Teslene’s formerly-flawless face turns a brilliant shade of burgundy and Alara knows she’s already won. She turns back towards Voltaea just in time to see the tiniest hint of a smirk form at the corner of her lips before the steel-faced girl shuts it down again. Deliciously unexpected. One point to me! She hears Teslene’s hateful voice from behind her, shaking and stern at once. “Say your goodbyes to your sister. It’s time to go. Now .” Not even going to say goodbye to her yourself, are you? 

        Her future victor bends back down to say her last farewells to the mutt. Alara doesn’t interfere - not now. She finds it best to let them grieve their attachments while they’re still close, so she has their full attention later. For now she can just stand here - patiently, even - and watch them.

        If Voltaea is affected, she doesn’t show it. Her words are all stoic promises and soft demands to stop the tears. It’s when the shrieking little parasite mentions something about “notes” that she tunes back into what they’re saying to each other. You’re a digging-into-details kind of girl - you notice things. Delightful! We’ll have to talk about those notes of yours later. 

        Her sister’s words have clearly rattled Voltaea, however, because she watches her future victor bury her nails into that gorgeous scar of hers again, then uses the other hand to smooth back her hair so tight that Alara worries she’ll pull it straight out of her skull. We do have our rituals, don’t we? That calm, collected, controlled determination returns to Voltaea’s eyes and she gives her full attention to her sister for a moment. 

        “I promise. I’ll come back.” Alara sees in every inch of her that she means it - and smiles. That's the drive to survive, darling. That - is what separates a victor from the corpses. Teslene doesn’t spare a second glance for Alara or her eldest daughter as she leads the younger one away towards a pathetic looking man with a gaunt face, and his squirming, squealing, stain of what she assumes is a son standing by the side entrance to the building. Alara feels that strangeness again - the one that tastes like sadness and sentiment in her throat. She bites it back and looks towards Voltaea - her gaze is still following her family, her sister really, as they leave for the last time. 

        Their eyes meet again - she’s ready for me now. Suddenly, the bloodbath bait in the corner lets out a particularly hateful wail - the kind that makes every hair on your neck leap up in unison. Her face contorts - it’s the second time she’s betrayed something to Alara that she didn’t mean to, now, though she still can’t tell if she knows it or not. The noise drives her nuts. That's two points for me, darling. 

        She watches the young woman dig her nails into her hand deep enough that Alara thinks she might actually draw blood in reaction. Her face snaps back into place so quickly that Alara almost misses it. She decides to close the gap between them before Voltaea has too much time to recover. Keep her off guard for now, that makes her easier to read. She coaches herself like this sometimes, when she’s hunting, it keeps the stim-strung thoughts in order. 

        When she’s close enough to smell the iron and bile from the girl’s breath - Nervous. Good. - she speaks. “So, tell me. How exactly do you pronounce your name? I can only assume Orwell has completely butchered the attempt.” Every emphasis is a calculated practice from years of television work - maximum drama, maximum impact. The girl doesn’t speak. The air thickens with too much silence. Alara feels her fingernails start drumming on her sleeve in spite of herself. I’m waiting. She lets a perfectly-manicured eyebrow drift upwards, questioningly. 

        When her future victor does speak it's slowly, with an almost sarcastically sharp annunciation - like she’s explaining this to a child. “Volt - ay - uh Amp - roll”. Alara, in that moment, decides that the best reaction to give the girl for her attempt at condescension is absolutely nothing . She ensures her face is perfectly still, but keeps her nails tapping against her jacket to center her. She doesn’t blink - the stims help with that trick. She’s been told it’s very unnerving by Selica when she does this on more than one occasion and that's exactly the mood she hopes to convey right now. Her eyes narrow as she watches the girl - to see if she shifts - if she breaks a little under the pressure. 

        Instead, she speaks again, softer this time, hint of a smirk behind her eyes - almost like teasing. “He was sort of close, with help, but he chirps too much - it makes his accent sound even stranger than yours does.”  It takes her a second to process what Voltaea just said. Just the tiniest verbal smack - a slightly larger one for Orville, which she so appreciates. Her fingertips stop tapping for a moment - she’s caught her off guard. You delicious little thing - I can’t believe you got me. One point to Voltaea. 

        The laugh that follows is genuine - she even gives the girl the satisfaction of letting it linger for a moment before clapping her hands together to bring herself back to earth. She has to chase the rising shudder in her spine - she isn't sure if it’s stims or - godsforbid, nerves - with a pointed final sigh. She coaches her thoughts into order. Back in the game now, darling, don’t lose your edge. 

        She decides not to hide the humor in her voice, no use denying it now. Let her have a win, see how she reacts, build a little trust . “Funny and ferocious!” She can see the self-satisfied smile forming on her future victor’s face as she speaks and feels herself swell with that familiar feeling of winning once more. Push a little more, she seems to be thriving on a compliment.  

        “Darling, when I saw you walk onto that Reaping stage today I knew we were going to do great things together and you just keep proving me right.” Alara hopes her next maneuver will signal that she’s ready for banter , it’s playing to a crowd of one. Just keep it playful, like her teasing, an earnest one, not sardonic . She hopes the girl will trust her if she makes a nod that they share an edge of humor. So she winks one of those emerald eyes right at the girl with a smile .  

        Voltaea's face flushes immediately in the most scandalized shade of scarlet Alara has ever seen. Oh. She can practically taste the breath hitching in the girl's throat. Ohhh. She knows these tells too well, you don’t look as good as she does without knowing. You poor thing, are you really so starved for affection? 

        She lets the drugs and the thrill of the hunt drive her steps forward for a moment, closing the gap between them until she’s practically leaning into Voltaea’s ear. She can feel the warmth of the girl’s breathing on her own neck. Just to make sure, one last little test. She has to dig her nails into her thigh a bit - calm, composed, controlled - for this next part. Keep your voice nice and measured, leave the suggestion open . Then she whispers, watching for every reaction she can. “ I do love to be right.” She steps back, observing . 

        It’s like she just watched the girl touch a live current, the way her whole body reacts to Alara’s voice in unison. Voltaea is actually shaking now, just slightly, like she’s caught a chill. Three points to me, today really is my day. She’s trying not to react but her face scrunches immediately and that salacious scarlet tone hasn’t left her cheeks since she first spoke to her. You were doing so well, earlier, darling. What happened, hmmm? Alara keeps her arms folded across her chest - guarded, watching, waiting for her to say something. She watches Voltaea’s chest rise and fall in a jagged rhythm at first, then slow as she regains her composure. She’ll give her credit for trying to keep up the eye contact - but Alara notices her gaze wandering elsewhere and has to bite back the urge to grin in triumph. She stills, face unfurrows, the redness begins its retreat. They stand like that for a few minutes - Let’s see if she finds her bearings. 

        When she speaks again, it’s a genuine surprise. “Your hand” The girl points towards her right hand, the one that never stops moving. Her little punishment for keeping her focus in check. You do notice things like I do, don’t you? How much have you been watching? “Did you injure it in your games?” Alara is momentarily struck stiff. The question is earnest, Voltaea’s tone sounds almost concerned. She’s entirely incorrect of course but the sheer innocence of the assumption makes that sentimental taste well up in her throat again. She realizes she’s cocked her head to the side in surprise. Oops. Alara lets out a feral smile at the realization that she’ll have to give the girl another point for catching her off guard again. Three to me, two to you. I do love good competition. You aren’t correct though, just observant. 

        Alara straightens her neck and shakes her head, making sure to keep her eyes piercing into Voltaea’s the whole time. “No.” Don’t give her any hints, keep it short and leave her wanting. Alara raises her steadier hand - holding up three fingers and then dropping one to show the girl her failure with flair . “Two more guesses.” 

        “I’ll need to think about them first.” It’s the first time Alara has heard her future victor speak without thinking first. So you like to play games too? She can practically see the gears turning behind the girl’s eyes, hear the calculations in her tone of voice. She can’t stop grinning, she feels it pulling her face into something almost manic looking. Her heartbeat is pounding harder than it has been since she got here - it’s not just the stims now, it’s thrill . It’s like looking in a mirror and finding the perfect version of herself - a better version - one that she can remake. Not like the Capitol did with her, where they sanded out every wild edge to make her palatable to the masses. No, she can sculpt a sharper, deadlier version of herself this time. She just has to get in her head before they do. I’m tired of playing for the wider audience, let’s go make you mine. 

        She reaches out a hand - to seal the deal in place. “I’ll give you ‘till we get to the Capitol, darling.” 

        Her girl only has to think about it for a moment before she reaches out her own hand to meet Alara’s, and shakes it. “Deal” Voltaea’s face is sweating, and Alara can see the flush creeping into her cheeks again just from this tiniest bit of contact. It makes Alara feel like she's won something. Let's do this again, shall we ? She looks at her girl's other hand and watches her itch that beautiful scar again. Perfect. You’re perfect.  

        Alara had once been asked by an electronics company in District Three to provide her voice for use in a navigation system. The kind that they put into the cars they drive around in the Capitol. They’d had her read lines like “Turn right, darling.” in her sultriest, softest purr for hours until she got it just right. She still has people come up to tell her how that voice makes them feel things. That's why she decides to use it now - for maximum impact. 

        “Voltaea -” It’s the first time she’s said her name out loud to her, and she lets it linger for just a moment to savor the reaction she gets. That scarlet glow in her cheeks that throbs every time Alara opens her mouth is brighter than ever. She's half afraid the poor thing might faint. Adorable! Ha! “- I’m terribly bored here, let's head to the train, shall we?” She doesn’t wait for a response, she’s still gripping Voltaea’s hand from shaking it earlier. Alara turns on her heels and gives her a sharp little tug to get her walking. 

        She feels her girl start to move for a moment - then that wretched wailer starts going in the corner again - loud, choked, painful sobs this time. Ugh. Don’t mention it, darling. Don’t concern yourself. Just be a good girl and follow me. 

        She does in fact mention it, to Alara’s deepest frustration. “Wait, what about Coulomb?” Is that his name? She's stammering through her words, clearly nervous to bring it up. 

        “Who?” She knows very well who Voltaea is talking about, but you have to make them work for it. Her girl gestures to the weeping mess in the corner with his equally pathetic family. Alara gives her the most sardonic eye roll she can muster and she watches it sting the girl’s expression like she’s been slapped. Good. “Gods above is that the weepy one in the corner? Please don’t disappoint me now by worrying about him when we have so much to accomplish.” You’re clenching that scar of yours again, darling. Alara sighs internally. She can see the poor thing squirming in her boots trying to find some way to right the wrong she’s committed. Her eyes dart to Alara’s looking for any hint of approval they can find. Gods, they really did break you didn’t they. She lets herself strategically soften for a moment. Perhaps I am being a bit harsh for the first day, no? 

        She turns to Orville - still cowering by the main entrance in that fashion hate crime he calls a suit. She makes sure Voltaea watches the exchange - this is for her benefit, afterall, but I won’t let her concern herself with him again. Her voice rings out in command “Orville, when his time is up, see to it that the boy makes it to the train in one piece.” He stands up and straightens her posture at her words - not quick enough. I’ll fix that. Her next words are sweet and songlike in tone but carry the undercurrent of promise that she knows makes the boy squirm. “and if he cries on my good chaise lounge, I will kill you both!”  

        She turns away with a practiced, dismissive wave of her hand, her claws glinting off the overhead lights like they’re sparkling . “Ta!” Its short, sweet, carries a note of finality that tells absolutely everyone to avoid her until she is comfortably out of the hideous, choking smog of District Five and back into the comfort of her sleeper car where she can think again. She tightens her grip on Voltaea - just enough to let the nails dig in a bit, to keep her steady .  

        They walk through the side door of the Justice Building and let it swing shut behind them. The Peacekeepers who escorted her from the train are following in a formation to the front and back of them, but Alara isn’t paying attention to them. She isn’t even tasting the smog in the air anymore. All she notices is that as she walks back towards the train station, hand-in-hand with her future victor, the girl’s footsteps lock into perfect pace with her own. Oh, I love a fast learner. She gives her a tiny, complimentary squeeze for her efforts. Just enough to feel her girl’s pulse quicken in her wrist. We’re going to have so much fun together, darling.

Chapter Text

Loud: Voltaea

         Voltaea Amprole says her last goodbye - internally, of course - to the whirring, buzzing, thumping chorus of cables and power plants that cross District Five before letting Alara lead her onto the waiting tribute train. They haven’t spoken since they left the Justice Building - she’s just been walking with the woman in the garish blazer in lock-step rhythm, hand-in-hand, surrounded by Peacekeepers in their own thumping march. Her head throbs from the static in her ears again, and she can't seem to clear it no matter how hard she digs her nails into her hand. 

         One of the Peacekeepers goes ahead to open the door with an inviting, electronic ding followed by a click and hiss as it slides sideways to grant them entry. Alara goes first, twisting Voltaea’s arm in a way that lets her keep a tight grip on her hand while she ascends into the lounge car, and pulls her into the train behind her. She watches the Peacekeeper give Alara a sharp nod before exiting onto the platform once more. Hiss. Click. Ding. The door shuts behind them. 

         The train is both overwhelmingly quiet, and far too loud at the same time. As she looks around, she notes it's as if whoever designed the lounge car they're standing in was contractually obligated to pattern every surface in the room something different - no order, no matching, no sense. It's calamity, chaos - every surface is colorful, reflective and it's just so loud. 

         In contrast to how loud it looks in here, the noise level is so quiet that it leaves Voltaea feeling almost suffocating. Like the soundproofing in the walls has cut her off from breathing real air - there's not a single sound in this train car that is familiar here anymore,  save for the static in her ears. She can't hear anything coming from outside - not a buzz, crackle, or thump to spin a tune from and order her thoughts. 

         “You seem a touch overwhelmed, darling.” She still sees me - maybe a little too well. Alara’s voice pours over her in a warm wave that starts at the hand she's still holding onto and runs straight into her chest. The thump-thump-thump of the bassline is in her throat again. Stop with the nerves, Voltaea, that's how you make mistakes. The nerves do not stop at her command. It's not like she can kill you if she wants you to win, calm down. 

         She manages to creak out a few words through the thundering heartbeat in her throat. “It's too quiet here.”

         Alara nods thoughtfully and gestures around her. “Good ear - the whole train is soundproofed. Wouldn’t want to disturb our rest on the way there, would they?” Voltaea’s face has that freshly electrocuted feeling from earlier again. It seems to creep back in every time Alara purrs out something that sounds like kindness to her ear. Why is it so warm in here?

          She looks down at her hand, the one Alara’s holding onto. That's part of it. She speaks without thinking again, a habit that seems to be forming in the older woman's presence. “I'm not going to run off if you let go.” She says this in earnest but Alara lets out another one of those honey-sweet cackles of hers that tells Voltaea she's accidentally made a joke. I guess that's not the worst outcome. 

         When she stops laughing, the lounge car is too quiet again. Alara looks her dead in the eyes and asks “Do you want me to let go?” Want? The burning from her face is in her neck now. 

         No, but I'm getting too hot right now to keep it up much longer. She realizes her mistake when that sweet, soft, warm laugh starts again - shorter this time, but just long enough to tell her she had spoken the thought aloud. She feels Alara squeeze her hand tighter for a moment - then lets go. Voltaea catches a scream in her throat. She hadn't meant to say anything yet, she was still working on the words - Breathe. Think. No more accidents, no more scars. She manages to keep these thoughts inside her head by biting down on her lower lip. 

         “You're nervous. That's normal, darling.” Her voice retains the note of kindness, but it sounds more concerned than complimentary. It stings Voltaea to hear her words - her whole last year has been spent working to stay composed for this moment. I failed again. “but if I can tell, you should be certain that your competitors can too, and we can't have that.” 

         “I’m trying not to be, but nothing is going the way it's supposed to!” Her voice comes out on its own again - too loud this time. Why can't I just think!

         Alara comes closer - Voltaea can hear the strange fabric of her blazer creaking against itself faintly as she moves - the click-click-click of her heels louder now in the deafening silence of the car. She can feel her heartbeat thumping in her throat. It's not the pleasant sort of tune she can relax into like the wind-and-buzzing she's used to - it's more like a war dance urging her to action. 

         Alara’s voice snakes its way into her ear as she circles behind her. Click-click-click-stop. She feels her mentor’s hand slide onto her shoulder, claws pressing into her gently, and feels her breath on her earlobe - it makes her shiver. “ Shhhhhhhh .” The hand pulls her backwards - she's guiding her to sit down on a nearby sofa with a garish black-and-white stripe pattern that makes her eyes hurt to stare at. Click-click-click-stop . They’re face to face again - it’s like Alara is trying to drill into the back of her skull the way she’s staring so hard. The voice is firm and soft at once now. “Breathe.” 

         “I am breathing!” No, I’m not. 

         “No, you aren’t.” She’s right again, stop letting her be right. The thundering pace of her heart threatens to overwhelm her. 

         “Stop noticing things!” Her voice comes out frustrated, almost yelling. Every muscle in her body feels like it’s fighting to tear itself in two. Her nails have drawn a faint line of blood from the scar in her hand. She’s not used to being seen like this - not used to being seen at all. Maybe it’s better that way, It’s easier when they don't see.

         It’s at that point that Alara stands up, pulling Voltaea to her feet with her. She doesn’t fight it- she’s shaking too much now to struggle and make things worse. She’s going to give up on me. I’m too weak to be the winner she wants. She thinks I’m an embarrassment just like my mother does.  

         The last thing she expects is the moment the other woman wraps her arms around her and pulls her into a deep, warm, enveloping hug - the kind that she gives Ohma when the tears start flowing and she can’t get her sister to stop sobbing. Comfort, understanding, and care expressed without words. When Alara releases her, she leaves a hand lingering on her shoulder to steady her. 

         "Voltaea darling,” She feels her whole body relax at the song-like sound of her name on Alara’s lips, and the older woman tilts Voltaea’s face down to look into her eyes again. She smiles. “I know it’s hard to be in the spotlight, but we’re here now. Let me help you get used to it, yes?”  Her mentor’s words shatter the last bit of her resolve and she slumps back into a seated position on the garish, striped sofa. 

         Alara perches herself on the armrest while Voltaea closes her eyes and starts trying to synchronize her breaths to a rhythmic count. It’s not working like it should, so she digs her nails into her hand again. As if in response to her movement, Voltaea feels the older woman’s hand wrap around the back of her head. What is she doing? Then she feels her nails - she’s slightly dragging the tips of them along Voltaea’s scalp. Oh. This is nice, actually. It’s like she’s taking a bath in lightly electrified water - her whole body is tingling - it’s a wholly unfamiliar feeling to her. She leans into the scritch-scritch-scritch sound and uses it to center her rhythm.  The thundering bassline in her chest begins to recede again. When her breathing steadies to normal, she feels the other woman’s hand pull back again.

         She opens her eyes after a few minutes, and sees Alara’s emerald eyes on her, waiting, but not impatiently. She looks softer than she did when they met earlier. When Voltaea finally speaks, it’s a whisper. No inflection, no pretenses, no control - she’s too tired to try. “I really don’t want to die.” 

         Alara grabs hold of her scarred hand, gently pulls it open so she can see the thin smears of blood Voltaea has drawn from it with her nails from all the clenching. She smiles - not the feral, toothy one she uses when something’s funny or she’s trying to look fierce. It’s sly, smirky, like she’s figured out something no one else knows. “Then let’s make you my victor.” It’s not phrased as a question. Voltaea still nods yes. 

         “Good girl.” There’s that burning again. Why? Alara gives her hand a quick squeeze - a painful pop when her nail scrapes the open bit on Voltaea’s palm. She stands up, smoothing the wrinkles out of the shining tri-color blazer that somehow seems quieter to Voltaea than it had before. She flips her curls out of her face and into place with a practiced flick of her neck. “The boys will be back soon, I’m sure.” She sounds almost sad about that . “In the meantime, Voltaea darling, why don’t I show you to your sleeper car? Then we can both take a few moments to slip into something more comfortable for strategizing in.” 

         “Strategizing?” Already? We just got on the train…

         “Yes, of course. We’ll need to have a whole image planned for you before the train disembarks!” Her mentor says this half-dismissively, like she should already know the plan. Voltaea has to admit to herself that she hadn’t really thought much about what kind of image she would be presenting - her notes had been focused more so on the surviving part. Her next words are softer, more like teasing than chiding. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about what your mu-” the cadence of her song is interrupted for a moment while she rethinks a word.    “-sister said about you taking notes. I’d like to know if you’ve got anything special cooking in that head of yours.” She heard all that, then. 

         “They’re nothing that special…” Alara grabs her scarred hand again as she speaks and starts leading her out the door of the lounge car. “... I just spent a lot of time at the library reading up on past Games after they doubled my entries last year.” They begin down the hall with the click-click-clicking of the older woman’s heels as a lead. 

         “They doubled you? So you missed a Reaping? Or you're a criminal. Tsk, tsk.” Alara’s Capitol-tinged accent comes through more thickly when she asks questions - It's something in the upward inflection of the words. 

         “Yeah, I mean - not for punishment though. I’m not a delinquent or anything.” Alara chuckles lightly at the defensiveness in her voice when she says delinquent . Voltaea doesn’t see the joke. “It was the same accident that caused this.” She holds up her scarred arm for emphasis, keeping her grip on her mentor’s hand the whole time. “I was in a coma for last year’s Reaping Day.” 

         The click-click-clicking continues as another door parts in front of them automatically with a hiss . “Really? Fascinating! A near death experience already, with your youth? I’ll need all the details later, we can certainly work the crowd with that sort of angle.” 

         So much burning, I need cold water, or a less stuffy outfit. “I don’t know anything about working a crowd, ma’am.” The clicking stops abruptly as Alara whirls around to look her in the eyes. 

         “It’s just Alara,” she feels the older woman’s nails dig into the back of her hand just slightly - her voice is firmer than it was a moment ago, her eyes serious. “if you would, darling.” 

         Don’t mess that up again. “Sorry…” 

         “And don’t start apologizing. It’s unbecoming. Now…” She spins around again and the click-click-clicking resumes. “...I can teach you how to win the masses over - it’s something of a specialty of mine, you know. I’ve even generously given you your first lesson.”

         “Which is?” Another door slides open with a hiss in anticipation of our arrival. Click-click-click.

         “Never apologize - please do keep up, I don’t like to repeat myself.”  She feels herself tense again at the mention of failure. 

         “Got it. No apologies.” There are two doors in this hallway, and the click-click-clicking of Alara’s heels slows to a halt as they approach the one at the far end. 

         “This is you - they’ll have you in a room next to the weepy one.” She means Coulomb. I guess he is kind of weepy, isn’t he? “But not to worry, the soundproofing should hold, I doubt you’ll hear much of him.” She presses a button beside the door with a scrape of her claw and it hisses open. “I’ll have Orville attend to him on the way to the Capitol - you and I will need all the time we can get to prepare.” She pulls her inside the room. 

         “I… but…” Voltaea tries to protest without thinking but struggles to find the words. She thinks back to the Justice Building, and Alara’s icy-edged words when she asked about Coulomb last. She can’t help asking, she’s too curious to know why. “Aren’t you supposed to train him too?” 

         “I’m supposed to train a victor. Tell me this, do you really think he has a chance?” Alara’s words are sharp, cutting - calculating. The burning reply comes in her stomach this time, not her face. 

         She wants to protest. She wants to tell her that it’s cruel to abandon him like that, he’s just a kid. She wants to scream and tell her to do her job. She thinks of Ohma, around the same age, and how she’d feel if Alara said the same of her. There’s rage for a moment. Although . When she really stops to think about it, she only has one answer. “No… I don’t.” 

         “Good girl.” That sharp smile with all the teeth is back, and Voltaea swears she sees the woman’s eyes light up when she speaks. “I’ll be back in half an hour, there’s clothes in the dresser - pick something comfortable. You and I have a late night ahead of us.” Alara gives her hand a last squeeze before letting go and stepping back out of the room to leave Voltaea alone with her thoughts and the deafening silence of the sleeper car. 

         Good. There’s less patterns in here. The sleeper car assigned to Voltaea is no less colorful than the lounge outside, but it’s a more harmonious mix of blues, purples, and hints of green throughout that remind Voltaea of the flower shows from the Capitol that Ohma used to watch so religiously. It’s more natural - less reflective surfaces and more velvety, matte textures. She runs her fingers absentmindedly along the back of an armchair and marvels for a second at just how soft it is - there’s nothing like this back home. Even in the comfier parts of the library she likes to curl up in while she studies, the chairs aren’t nearly as plush. Or clean-smelling.

         The bed is bigger than the one she has to share with her sister back home - at least double the size if her estimate holds. She tries to size it up with her fingers like she does when she’s half-measuring distances to yell to Markus at work. It’s almost too big - like she’ll get lost in it if she climbs under the covers the wrong way. It makes her feel unsettled, so she climbs into the soft, reclining armchair she found by the door for a few moments to just think and breathe. 

         The silence still feels like drowning, so she starts to hum - not a tune so much as a low, droning, constant buzz to center her and drown out the static in her ears. She closes her eyes to lean back into the sound, letting it wash over her with the same warm feeling Alara’s hug had given her earlier. Huh? 

         She tries to pull her thoughts into some semblance of order, keeping the hum in her throat consistent like a calming mantra. She lets her nails scrape across the soft material of the armchair with a schk, schk, schk sound - a backbeat for the tune she’s making. Calm. Collected. Controlled.

         I’m on a train going to my death. Alara says I’ll live. I’m apologizing too much. Everything is too soft here. I have to be a crowd pleaser. I’m so tired. She’s nicer than I thought she would be. The train is too quiet. She called me funny. The patterns are too loud. She gave me a hug. I can’t keep my eyes open. She thinks I can win. I’m supposed to be doing something, aren’t I? 

         Voltaea doesn’t open her eyes, just leans back into the gentle hum and the schk, schk, schk of her nails until she falls asleep and the sound goes silent. 

         She wakes with a shot to the knock-knock-knock at the door. How long was I out for? Alara doesn’t wait before coming inside - the knock is an announcement, not a question. She raises an eyebrow questioningly at Voltaea, who’s still trying to pull herself from the grip of sleep. “I thought I told you to find something comfortable, darling?” 

         She can hear a faint wub-wub-wub-wub from the floor beneath her feet. “Are we moving?” Alara strides into the room with her usual catlike grace, and begins to rifle through a wardrobe near the far wall. 

         “Yes, we just set off a few minutes ago - did you fall asleep?” Her mentor remembered to redress herself - instead of napping, ugh . This outfit, she finds, is easier on the eyes. It’s a robe, deep red - a shade darker than Alara’s curls. The material looks shiny but not violently so - not like the blazer. More like silk. The sleeves are mid-length, just past the elbow, and it’s cut in a way where it hangs just above the woman’s knees and accentuates every inch of her legs. Voltaea realizes she can’t hear the click-click-clicking of high heels anymore when the older woman walks, and looks to see she’s entirely shed her shoes in favor of a pair of fuzzy, red slipper-sandals. This is what comfortable is to her, I guess? 

         “No…” Liar, she’ll see right through that. She pauses and averts her gaze from Alara’s piercing emerald one. “... maybe a little nap.” 

         “Nothing to worry about, you probably needed it.” Voltaea moves to rise from the chair but Alara’s songlike voice snakes around her again and holds her steady. “Stay put- I’ll find you something.” She rifles through the wardrobe, swearing under her breath a few times as she runs her fingers over certain outfits and tosses others over her shoulder and onto the floor like she's having a fit. She mutters a lot, doesn’t she? “Absolutely nothing! The wardrobe team this year was less than useless. Hang on, Voltaea darling, I’ll be back in just a moment with something suitable .”

         Before she has a chance to reply, Alara has taken off down the hallway again - her softer footsteps harder to keep track of than the clicking heels she had earlier. Voltaea takes a moment to stand from her chair and wander towards the lone window of the sleeper car. The outside world is speeding past her faster than she can keep track of it - It’s like falling again. The static rises in her ears at the thought and she quickly turns back from the window. None of that, please. 

         At least the subtle wub-wub-wub-wub of the train is there to center her now. The sound is still muffled, like it’s coming from underwater - but just hearing something makes her feel like she can breathe again. She tries to take in more of her surroundings, now that her head is a little clearer. There’s a desk at the far wall that immediately catches her eye - some kind of deep purple-stained wood with gold enameling around the edges. It’s gaudy, like everything else the Capitol touches, but it’s sturdy looking - not as artificial as the other furniture somehow. She slides open the rolling top and sees that there’s a stack of stationery inside, a set of pencils, and some kind of colorful - painfully bright - ink pens, maybe markers? They’re like nothing Voltaea has ever seen before. 

         She uncaps one of the colorful pens and tests it on the stationary - it’s bright, but translucent enough that you can still see the design on the stationary below where she colored. She tries to write her name in the strange yellow ink but can barely read it. She scowls at the pen like it’s offended her somehow. What are these for? They’re hideous and you can’t see anything you write with them. 

         She hears the distinct sound of a throat clearing and turns around to see Alara standing in the doorway holding some black fabric bundle in her clawed hands and looking smug. “Coloring?” It got warm in here again. 

         “These pens are useless, you can’t see anything you write with them.” Voltaea lets her honest frustration slip through - she can’t wrap her head around Capitol impracticalities like this, it’s unsettling. She feels the static in her ears stronger when she tries to reason it out. 

         Alara laughs - it’s sharper and haughtier than her usual chuckle. She’s being laughed at here, not with. She knows this from experience and feels her heart sink in her chest. “Oh. Darling. That’s because it’s a highlighter.” She thinks I'm an idiot. Shit. The word means nothing to Voltaea, and clearly her face shows this because Alara continues to explain. “Look - you don’t use it to write things with, you use it to emphasize what you’ve already written. It’s an organizing tool.” 

         Alara crosses the room and nestles herself right beside Voltaea, then grabs a pencil and signs her name with a flourish: Alara Vox. She drops the pencil and wraps a clawed hand over Voltaea’s, guiding the highlighter over her name to demonstrate. “See, doesn’t it pop now? That way you’ll notice it when you look back at your notes again.” Huh. That actually makes sense. 

         “That’s what you’re doing with me then, isn’t it? We’re using a highlighter to make me pop for the crowd?” Alara chuckles again - the one Voltaea likes this time - the one that tells her she’s being funny even if she doesn’t mean to. Alara claps her hands together sharply. 

         “Exactly! You do catch on.” Alara spins her around so they’re face to face again. “Anyways. For now, you can borrow one of my spare robes. Since there’s nothing remotely suitable for a woman of your sharpness in here -” She hands Voltaea the silken, black bundle of fabric. The robe is inlaid with red embroidery that spreads out across the surface like elaborate circuitry - it’s actually striking, beautiful even. Not too much - like that awful blazer she had . “ - this will have to do.” Alara cocks her head to the side for a minute. This is her thinking tell, isn’t it? “Although do be careful - it might be short on you.”

         Voltaea feels like she just got set on fire. Why is it so warm? Maybe I’m overdressed. It’s not a warm outfit? Maybe they keep it too hot on the train. It gets worse when she speaks? Maybe I'm catching a fever. She fumbles over the robe in her hands for a moment - it’s almost a slippery feeling from how soft it is. Alara stands there, staring, tapping her nails against the fabric of her own robe with her arms crossed again. Waiting. Why is she still here? “Um…” Voltaea struggles to find the words for a moment. “Are you going to leave?” 

         “For what, darling?” She raises one of those razor-red eyebrows her way in a question. 

         “Um…” Her head swims, the static rolls in like thunder. “So…” It fills her whole body now, not just her ears, like she’s vibrating. “I need to get dressed.” She tries to center herself in the wub-wub-wub-wub of the train rolling beneath her, tries to dig her nails into her scar again to silence the static. Alara grabs her hand before she can. She’s taken aback for a moment when she realizes that the older woman has filed down the nails on her right hand in the time she was asleep - rounded in contrast to the claws on her left. She opens her mouth to ask about it before she’s interrupted.

         “I hate to break it to you darling,” Alara’s voice softens, taking on a note of something that almost sounds like sadness for a moment. “But the Capitol is going to rip that modesty from you whether you like it or not. Best to get over it now, don’t you think?” She lets go of Voltaea’s hand again, and resumes the tapping on her arm. There’s a new, electric buzz humming to life in her stomach that starts to creep its way deeper inward. What is this? Alara turns her head to the side slightly, looking out the window in a half-hearted show of giving the younger woman privacy. “Go on, then. I’ll be here - for practice.” 

       She gulps - steels herself - Calm. Calm. Calm. She can’t get past the first part of the mantra - her hands shaking and her face flush, burning like she’s being shocked. The deep, thrumming, buzz in her stomach keeps plunging deeper. Why can’t I just be still in front of her? Voltaea turns away from Alara slightly, still embarrassed. She’s my mentor, she needs to teach me things. She says she wants me to survive, says she wants me to be her victor. She wouldn’t want to hurt me, right? Maybe it’s better to get over it now, with her, like she said… She's still not entirely convinced of the thought when she starts to strip off her reaping day outfit, tossing the last remnants of District life over her shoulder like old trash onto the floor of the sleeper car. As she’s fastening the belt of the silk robe around her waist, she swears she hears Alara whisper something from behind her. Something that sounds like “ You’re perfect. ”

Chapter Text

Quiet: Alara

       Alara Vox breathes through her nose in quiet relief when the door to the train closes behind them and she’s finally cut off from that oppressive, cloying smog outside. Finally! Let’s get to work. The lounge car is cleaner than it was when she left the train. At least someone is doing their job, can’t say the same for our wardrobe team this year. 

       She hasn’t released Voltaea’s hand since they left the Justice Building. It's not as if her girl has asked - even though Alara can feel her thin fingers shaking in her grip and pouring sweat. She watches her for a moment, taking in every inch of her steely posture, every sculpted angle in her face as she looks around the lounge car like a lost cat searching for a corner to hide in. It’s like every time the poor thing scans the room she finds something new to be terrified of. We’ll have to calm those nerves later, little spark. I have so many tricks to show you. 

       “You seem a touch overwhelmed, darling.” Alara lets her calmest purr of a voice roll past her lips. Gods, that does have an effect, doesn’t it? She can feel Voltaea’s pulse rise in the hand she’s still gripping - her sweat thickens - there’s that beautiful burgundy shade of warmth creeping into her face. Do you even know what’s happening to you, or is this your first time? The girl’s eyes scan her own. Looking for answers? 

       After a moment, her victor speaks in a choked voice - almost fearful . “It's too quiet here.” So you’re sensitive to the quiet too, not just the noise. 

       “Good ear - the whole train is soundproofed. Wouldn’t want to disturb our rest on the way there, would they?” She gestures around them. I do love the way you burn for me when I speak. The poor thing looks like she’s been slapped - her face scrunches unrecognizably. Perhaps it’s okay that you save that composure for the cameras darling. This is more fun. 

       She sees the girl, finally, look down and recognize that Alara still hasn’t let go of her. She half stumbles through the next words - like she can’t quite bring herself to ask the question so the poor thing feels she has to say something cheeky. It’s adorable - Alara gets a good chuckle out of it. “I'm not going to run off if you let go.” Oh, darling, I know you won’t. I know all kinds of things about you now. 

       Alara meets the girl's blue-grey eyes with her own piercing stare. She lets her eyes narrow, her smirk faltering slightly. She drops her voice lower, huskier, almost seductive . Let’s see just how aware you are, shall we? “Do you want me to let go?” 

       The words fall out of her victor’s mouth without her stopping to think - like vomit after too much wine. “No, but I'm getting too hot right now to keep it up much longer.” OH! My goodness! You are forward, aren’t you? Alara can’t stifle the cackle that rises in her throat. Voltaea’s face turns the deepest shade of red Alara has seen yet, she moves a hand to her mouth like she wants to clap it over the offending part of her face - but drops it. Oh this is TOO good. You have no self-control here, do you? We can shape that, not to worry. It doesn’t always do to be in control in the arena.” Alara tastes the chemically-coppery tang in the back of her tongue again like a spark of inspiration. 

       Show her that softness again, that’s what makes her heart race so deliciously. She coaches herself through the growing tremor in her hand - it’s noticeable right now, she has to temper her excitement - Don’t let her see that just yet, she needs to know herself better first. She uses the same voice she does with Selica when she’s trying to put the woman off a gossip trail with a tactical sob story - sweet, tinged with notes of bitter melancholy. “You're nervous. That's normal, darling.” Let her feel like she matters, but make sure she never forgets what she’s here to do. “but if I can tell, you should be certain that your competitors can too, and we can't have that.”

       “I’M TRYING NOT TO BE BUT NOTHING IS GOING THE WAY IT’S SUPPOSED TO!” A crack in her facade - she’s not keeping track of her posture or her expressions anymore. Her victor hunches forward - face red - practically screaming the words at her. She sees the girl’s hands fly to her ears in response to her own voice - as if she could clench the scream rattling around in there out if she just squeezes hard enough. Anger! I love anger, darling - it’s such a valuable tool in our kit. Let’s just save it for the right people, yes? 

       Alara closes the gap between the two of them in graceful strides, circling her like she’s on the hunt. She wraps her hands over Voltaea’s shoulders - gently, not too rough now, spare the claws - she can feel herself shaking, feel the smile creeping into her cheeks when she leans into the younger girl’s ear. She lets the “ Shhhhhhhh .” fall from her lips just an inch away from her earlobe and she swears she can feel the blush creep back into her girl’s cheeks again as she guides her gently to a delightfully patterned Capitol-chic sofa behind her. 

       Alara circles around to the front of the girl again - You’re flustered, my little spark, let me fix that for you. She lets her stare fall into Voltaea’s. She’s crouched in front of her at about eye level, so she can take in every decadent detail of the moment. She notices the rapid rise-and-fall of the girl’s chest like a scared rabbit. She’s struggling to maintain eye contact now. Good. I love to win. The poor thing is drenched in sweat now - she can smell the nerves coming off of her in waves through the residual coal-smog bouquet all the tributes seem to take on the train with them. Alara lets her voice soften to a commanding, warm whisper. “Breathe.” Just some quick mentoring. 

       “I am breathing!” No, you sweet, stupid thing, you aren’t. 

       “No, you aren’t.” She sees something halfway between panic and rage flare through the girl’s eyes as the rise-and-fall of her chest speeds up even further. She’s digging those nails of hers into her hand so hard Alara can see the blood welling up around her fingertips. Gods, you look like me when I’ve had too many stims. She ignores the taste of sentiment in her throat, this time. 

       “Stop noticing things!” Alara feels her chest drop slightly - the girl is escalating. Not her intent. Wait. It hits her for a moment that there’s a weapon in her repertoire that might just work. Something bolder and softer at once. Alara stands and grabs both of the girl’s hands - she doesn’t bother to unclench them, just wraps her clawed nails around Voltaea’s wrists and stands up, pulling her with her. 

         Lean in for the kill. She doesn’t give Voltaea a chance to protest, or to ask about the thoughts Alara can see swirling behind her eyes. She just pulls her into a deep hug, letting her girl’s body slump into her own. She hears a small, choked sob escape - That’s it, darling. Let me be your comfort now - and squeezes tighter. Then, before the poor thing in her arms has a chance to shatter completely, she pulls back and releases her into her own world again.  Perfect. 

       “Voltaea darling,” she lets the girl’s name slip out in the same tone she’s been using to say it - the sultry, smoky one that seems to have such an effect. She can see the girl relaxing in real time as she speaks, using a clawed hand to gently tilt her head down to look into Alara’s eyes. I want her to remember me in this moment when she feels like weakness again.  “I know it’s hard to be in the spotlight, but we’re here now. Let me help you get used to it, yes?” Her future victor doesn’t nod, just sort of lets her spent body collapse back into the sofa and closes her eyes. 

       Alara settles on the armrest, legs crossed and in perfect balance. She sees the poor thing digging her nails into her hand again and sighs. Still leaning on yourself for comfort - I’ll have to teach this lesson more than once. Alara uses an old trick that Selica had with her, just after her games, when she had tried to bite the other woman in a feral rage for suggesting she wear pants to a stage interview. She just reaches her hand around the back of her girl's head, claws blazing, and starts to gently scratch her scalp - just enough to let the clawed tips graze across it. 

       The response from Voltaea’s body is immediate and visceral. That’s it, be a good girl and relax. Her breath starts to slow almost as soon as the nails graze her scalp - heartbeat visibly receding from the veins in her neck. She hears something like a small noise of satisfaction from her future victor before she leans back absentmindedly to push Alara’s scratches a little deeper. I wonder how long it will take you to realize I’m the only one who matters now. 

       Alara is watching her intently when her girl finally opens her eyes, taking her in for a moment with something like serenity on her face despite the sweat and the disarray she’s in. “I really don’t want to die.” the voice comes suddenly, and unexpectedly soft. 

       Alara feels the sickly-sweet sentiment hit her chest like an axewound. She has to smirk to keep herself from cracking - has to throw her thoughts fully into what they’re going to do together to keep them from drifting to death. Because she can’t let this one die - she won’t allow it - this one is hers. The arena won’t break her, the Capitol won’t change her, she chose this one the second she saw her on the Reaping stage. She grabs ahold of Voltaea’s hand - the scarred one - and digs the poor things nails back out of the blooded wounds by force. A blood promise, something we can never break, darling. “Then let’s make you my victor.” 

       She hadn’t asked it like a question, but Voltaea still nods yes. Good girl. 

       Satisfied with herself, Alara stands up - still holding onto her victor’s hand - and gives it a little complimentary squeeze when she follows. “The boys will be back soon, I’m sure.” I intend to keep us both far away from them. “In the meantime, Voltaea darling, why don’t I show you to your sleeper car? Then we can both take a few moments to slip into something more comfortable for strategizing in.” 

       “Strategizing?” Darling, we just spent all this time building trust, please listen! Alara bites back her frustration. 

       “Yes, of course. We’ll need to have a whole image planned for you before the train disembarks!” It comes out almost too harsh, she can feel her girl’s hand tense within her own. ‘ You’re biting again, Alara dear.’ She can practically taste the wine in Selica’s breath when she summons her voice. Soften yourself, the poor thing has never known softness, that’s how you catch her - be the silk not the spider. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about what your mu-” Fucks abound, FOCUS! She coaches herself with more fury to calm her nerves again. “-sister said about you taking notes. I’d like to know if you’ve got anything special cooking in that head of yours.” If you called that shrieking little thing a mutt in front of her, you’d have lost her before you got to the Capitol.

       They walk for a while in conversation, heading for the back of the train where the sleeper cars are hitched up. Voltaea divulges enough to confirm some of Alara’s suspicions about her - but Alara doesn’t probe too deeply - not yet anyway. She just learns enough to start confirming some suspicions. She keeps notes - relishes those little details. It’s because she knew she’d be chosen - she planned for it. Gods I could kiss that mind of hers - I wish I had been so prepared in my day. She was in an accident - something where she ended up in a coma. That’s how she got the scar. She shifts and itches every time the noise in the room changes, like she's clawing herself back into rhythm. She apologizes too much - and she’s much too formal with me, we’ll have to fix that. No ma’am’s - I’m not your mother, darling. Nearly there now… let’s put her on the end, nearer to my car, of course. 

       “This is you - they’ll have you in a room next to the weepy one.” She smiles at Voltaea, who seems to be preoccupied with something. She’s biting her lower lip and digging those nails into that beautiful scar of hers again. “But not to worry, the soundproofing should hold, I doubt you’ll hear much of him.” I hate seeing this look on your face, darling, please let it go. Alara presses the button to open the door to the sleeper car - it’s much plainer than hers, but she suspects her girl might prefer that after so many new sights today. You still look so concerned, let me take that from you. “I’ll have Orville attend to him on the way to the Capitol - you and I will need all the time we can get to prepare.” Her words don’t seem to shift Voltaea’s face at all - she’s still standing there looking like there’s too many gears turning in her head at once. 

       “I… but…” You can’t go around stuttering like that for the cameras, focus! She wants to smack sense into her, but now isn’t the time. “Aren’t you supposed to train him too?” You are an audacious little thing aren’t you? Didn’t I tell you earlier not to worry about him? Alara is torn between being irritated at her concern and elated at her boldness in challenging her. With my reputation? Good show, darling. 

       Alara lets her next words cut like daggers, but keeps her face a tight mask. This is a test, afterall. To see if her girl is really as capable as she thinks. To see if she can out reason her feelings, leave those pesky things behind to do what needs to be done to win . Calm. Collected. Controlled. “I’m supposed to train a victor. Tell me this, do you really think he has a chance?”

       There’s a look on Voltaea’s face that flashes like rage for a moment and Alara half wonders if she miscalculated and the girl is softer than she’d anticipated. She stands there, digging those nervous nails into her scar, staring at Alara but not really seeing what’s in front of her eyes. After a long, static silence, she finally says “No… I don’t.”

       Alara feels like the fire of victory has been ignited in her for the first time in 24 years - her face burns with a smile she can’t contain. “Good girl” She feels Voltaea sizing her up in the moment, trying to gauge her true feelings. She lets them show, just a bit, for her. I’ll let you see me, just this time, darling. So you know what a good job you’re doing. Her tremor is worsening, and the itching in the back of her teeth is getting sharper with every moment. I need a moment to prepare. We have so much to learn together, little spark. Alara’s voice cracks back into showtime mode - bright and sharp: “I’ll be back in half an hour, there’s clothes in the dresser - pick something comfortable. You and I have a late night ahead of us.” She gives her hand a last, tight, press before releasing her and stepping back out into the hallway as the door slides shut behind her. 

       She strides to the nearby exit door of the traincar to enter the next one - where her sleeper car is located, right at the very end of the train. She hadn’t mentioned that fact to her girl yet. Let her have her moment of peace before the real work begins. She enters the car in stride, too-tall heels from her Reaping Day outfit deadening their incessant noise when she steps onto the plush, opal-shimmering carpet. She kicks them off immediately - the heels are a costume piece, a weapon. There’s no need for weapons with her girl, she’s so much more responsive to softness . We’re going to be getting comfortable together now, darling, no need for such pretenses. 

       Alara strips her outfit and tosses it over her shoulder into the corner - taking a long look at herself in the floor-length mirror in the corner with a grin. Magnificent, I truly do have excellent taste in surgeons. She pulls her favorite robe - a crimson, silk number that shows off a flattering amount of her legs. We’ll see if you notice this, darling. It takes her a bit longer to find her slippers - she vaguely remembered an incident from the night before where she had thrown them at Orville for implying she should drink a glass of water instead of more wine. They were on opposite sides of the room, one slid underneath her dresser. I’ll have a talk with him about this behavior later. Ugh. 

       It's only taken her ten minutes to get dressed - she can’t hear the train moving yet so the boy and the weeper can’t have been back too long - if they could pry him away from the rest of his useless family without the Peacekeepers getting involved, anyway. She tenses for a moment - the twitching tremor in her hand and an ugly churning in her gut urging her to consider her thoughts. Alara, you aren’t going to sit around feeling guilty, not when you finally have your victor. She eyes the tray and the rows of pills and powders on the coffee table.  Perhaps I’ll sharpen up, then. 

       She skates across the room and slinks down onto the daybed beside the table, pulling out a series of vials to examine like a mad scientist. She settles on a pure-white substance that seems to have more of a shimmering crystalline look to it than a powdery matte one - it’s one of her stronger favorites. She pops the stopper of the vial and pours a small amount of the substance onto the tray, using the back of a long nail to tame it into a line of submission. Perfect!

       Scrape, schk, sniff. It’s practically a ritual for her now. She feels the burning, chlorinated taste hit her palette like a cleansing rain. Her eyes widen, pupils flare, mind sharpens like a killing blade. Gag. A particularly violent drip makes her nearly choke - the bile-burn coiling through her esophagus in rageful reply to the drugs. Breathe!ThroughyourfuckingmouthAlarafuck! 

       She has to shake herself for a second to get her thoughts to stop running together. Her heartbeat is too fast , the itching spreads too far from her teeth, the chemical taste too strong - Did I overdo it again, No, no this isn’t any more than I usually take, it can’t be, is it? The tremor is violent enough that she takes her other hand to clamp it down just to feel still for a moment. Her eyes dart back to the assortment of powders and pills, and she fumbles around for a particular sea-blue capsule that she knows will do the trick. Blue to calm, blue to calm, blue to calm. 

       There are two left in her pill case, she takes one, dry swallow, no hesitation. Twenty minutes, give or take, then I’ll be presentable and perfect and positively radiating, and I’ll have Orville watch the boy, the train, the train, until we get to the Capitol - OH! and we’ll make sure you’re all dressed up for me - 

       Her rambling thoughts are interrupted by the crackling voice of the driver over the intercom. “We will be departing District Five in five minutes. Repeat, departure is in five minutes.” Work faster, damnit! Alara looks at herself in the mirror again. Her nose is violently red, eyes bloodshot - If that pink-dress-motherfucker on the wardrobe team sees this he’ll send shots straight to the gossip rags. FUCK! She throws the pill-case still lingering in her hand across the room at the far wall where the contents scatter across the carpet like confetti. 

       It's then that the door to the sleeper car slides open. Orville in his hideous powder blue suit stands in the entryway looking like he’s stuck his hand in the cookie jar - Coulomb Vexel’s wild shock of blonde hair bobbing behind him in tow. “Ah… Alara, I have your other tribute, he’s asked what he’s supposed to be doing to prepa-” 

       “ORVILLE STRAUD I SWEAR TO EVERY FUCKING GOD IF YOU DON’T REMOVE THAT BOY FROM MY SIGHT-” Shes practically vibrating with rage - she can taste the copper on her tongue from nicking it with her shaking teeth. 

       “Ma’am -” You audacious little fucker. The stim-shakes are so violent now that she can tell the boy notices them. She doesn’t care. 

       “No! Orville! No ma’ams! You’ve disregarded me for the last time today - he’s YOUR responsibility now. YOU get him ready for the Capitol. You want the boy to have a mentor so badly, you fucking do it - maybe you’ll see why I save my focus for potential when you see how exhausting it all is.” Alara turns her shoulder away from him pointedly, plunging her claws into her upper thigh to steady herself - the angry red welts a reminder to stay calm, collected, and controlled . 

       She hears his breath rattling behind him, can practically taste his nerves over the artificial rose-smell in the sleeper car and the chemical tang in her sinuses. He speaks - not to her this time, to the weepy boy behind him. It’s softer than his usual voice - less affectated - He’s less chirpy. “It seems like Ms. Vox is busy right now.” Idiot. He pauses for a moment, mulling the thought, then whispers to the boy like he's sharing a secret with a dear friend. “Do you like sweets? There’s a gentleman in the dining car who makes the most marvelous chocolate torte!” 

       As the door starts to close behind her, she hears the tiny weepy boy speak for the first time. Just one thing, almost a whisper. “I do like chocolate…” There, see, he'll be right as rain with Orville. The boy will make sure he has the time of his life before they gut little Coulomb like a pig at the bloodbath, I’m sure. Alara knocks her shin off of the coffee table when the train lurches into gear and starts moving with a loud “Fuck!”

       It’s been close to the thirty minutes she told her girl she had to ready herself - she checks herself over in the mirror one last time. Her eyes are bloodshot, red and streaked, as the tip of her nose. This won’t do at all, not the way she needs to see me. She rummages in a drawer by the mirror, producing a dropper bottle that she quickly upturns into both of her eyes. She blinks a few times to spread the drops out evenly then examines herself again. Oh good, now I look like the weepy one. Her eyes are watery, nose still burning red. 

       Hurry up! She glides to the bathroom attached to the car. It’s easily as lavish as the rest of her quarters - the centerpiece of the room being a large, circular, black bathtub with golden orchid designs inlaid on the outside. Ugh, if only there were time right now. She makes her way to the sink and plugs it, letting it fill for a moment with ice cold water. Then, she plunges her entire face into it. Please - for the love of amphetamines - let them have at least remembered the waterproof makeup. 

       It seems as though her styling team had done one thing right this year because Alara’s makeup is flawless when she rises from the depths of the bathroom sink a woman reborn. All the puffiness has left her face, and while she does look slightly damp, she doesn’t look quite so sad or derangedly high anymore. Showtime. Don’t trip, don’t stumble, don’t even blink darling. Calm, collected, and controlled. 

       She’s primed for power, itching with energy, and slides out of her sleeper car ready to face her victor again. She knocks, three times - short, sharp, striking - then enters without waiting for a reply. Oh, aren’t you sweet falling asleep like that? A terrible listener, but sweet. She bites back the sentimental taste welling up in her chest and focuses on the copper tang of blood from the burst capillaries in her nose.

        It helps her not to smile too sweetly to raise a snarky eyebrow at the girl instead. She looks entirely too soft in sleep, none of the harshness and steel of her waking demeanor. It won’t do in the arena. “I thought I told you to find something comfortable, darling?” She feels a chill run up her spine and has to clench her teeth to stop it from making her shiver. Those blue pills need to hurry up - too much bite right now. 

       Her girl asks if they’re moving, Alara rebuts by asking if she was asleep. Since we’re asking obvious questions, tsk. She pacifies the poor thing with some kind words - then slips back into her teaching voice. “Stay put- I’ll find you something.” 

       She’s already laser-focused on the wardrobe in the room, where she strides like a cat on the hunt - for a suitable outfit to dress the girl in since she couldn't be bothered to do it herself. Nothing, nothing, FUCK, nothing, gods the fucking wardrobe team this year was less than useless, nothing, ugly, hideous, nothing, ugh is this for a child? ABSOLUTELY FUCKALL, NOTHING! Her mind races faster than her hands can throw outfits onto the floor - rejections, every one. You can’t be dressed like innocence, or sadness, or fear - no you have to be dressed in something that MEANS something - something with style, with flair, maturity. Steeliness, even.

       Alara turns back to face Voltaea, who she gleefully notices has not taken her eyes off of her bare legs - though the look in the poor thing’s eyes is so glassy from sleep she can’t be sure she’s really taking it all in just yet. Alara strides past her, confidently, just to see if her gaze follows. Oh, and it certainly does. I’ll make a note that you like this one for later, my little spark. “Absolutely nothing! The wardrobe team this year was less than useless. Hang on, Voltaea darling, I’ll be back in just a moment with something suitable .”

       Alara blazes down the hall and back into her sleeper car, a woman with intent and fire in her eyes. She’s never been handed such a gift on a silver platter before - Someone so shapeable, so capable, so insightful! So much like me, really. Alara leaps up onto her daybed like a cat hunting a bug, nearly tripping over her slippers in the process but catching herself before she whacks her head on the wall behind it. A version of me who doesn’t make mistakes. She reaches behind the bed to pull out her second-favorite robe.

        Second favorite because Haymitch Abernathy once told her the color black brought out her crows feet when he drunkenly raged at her during a mentor gala for mocking a dead tribute of his on air. She tried to explain it was just show business, and the poor thing really did look like a coal rat, but he took the little things so personally. He had said other things too, regarding her character. I’ve heard it all and worse before from the rabble back home . But That. That was the one that stuck. That black aged her. She hasn’t worn it as more than a highlight since. 

       The robe is still silk, but black instead - a smidge longer than the crimson - with blood-red embroidery work that spreads out like veins across the surface. Darling, you’re a version of me who would look perfect in this robe. 

       The fabric snags on one of Alara’s nails with a sharp pull. Oh. I nearly forgot, darling. There is still something else you need. Sitting on the coffee table, next to all the neat little chemicals she uses to keep herself in order, is a silver and jade nail file. She picks up the implement, turning it over in her hands as a devilish grin forms on her face. A softer touch, then. For when the time is right. 

       It takes her a few minutes to get it right - to clip away the claws on one of her manicured hands and round the nails out to a softened tip. She leaves the other sharp. Can’t have people forgetting who I am now, can I? Satisfied with her work, Alara saunters down the hallway with the robe in hand. She stops at the open doorway and is struck with a scene of the girl - wielding a highlighter pen like a drafting tool - scribbling away on some of Alara’s very expensive personalized stationery. 

       She’s staring at the thing like she’s studying it - with all the intent she does when she stares at Alara, even. I’ll have to be more eye-catching it seems. It’s almost striking how innocent it all looks - this is her weapon, her victor, it almost didn’t occur to her that she’d find such fascination in something so simple. I might have too once, before my own games. 

       She stands there - taking it all in, letting the sentimental taste linger for a moment. That’s enough of that, now. We have work to do. She interrupts with a clear of her throat and a sarcasm-tinged “Coloring?” Darling - if I could bottle that shade of blush you have in my presence I’d do nothing but drink. 

       “These pens are useless, you can’t see anything you write with them.” Alara lets out an involuntary, snark-drenched laugh.  

       “Oh. Darling. That’s because it’s a highlighter.”   She can immediately see it strike the girl across her face like a slap. Ah. My bad. Alara tries to soften her voice a bit to explain, lest the poor thing think she’s picking on her. Teslene would have given you enough of that for a lifetime, I’m sure. “Look - you don’t use it to write things with, you use it to emphasize what you’ve already written. It’s an organizing tool.”

       She doesn’t want Voltaea to think she’s unappreciative of her curiosity, so Alara crosses the room to stand beside the girl at the desk - grabbing a nearby pencil and signing her name with the practiced flourish of a career victor. Don’t say I never do anything for you, darling. She slides her hand over her girl’s, savouring the feel of the pulse pounding against her, guiding her hand with the highlighter pen over Alara’s signature. She lets her half-whispered voice ease into the younger woman’s earlobe like a secret. “See, doesn’t it pop now? That way you’ll notice it when you look back at your notes again.”

       Voltaea speaks, in an almost calculated tone. It’s adorable, really .  “That’s what you’re doing with me then, isn’t it? We’re using a highlighter to make me pop for the crowd?” Alara laughs again - earnestly, not sharply. She has to clap her hands together to shock herself back into focus again. I haven’t laughed in such a long time, darling. Not really. Her girl still can’t look into her eyes - she can see the flush hasn’t left her face, and the poor thing keeps wandering back to Alara’s legs…

       “Exactly!” Let’s focus on something a bit easier for you to swallow for now. She guides Voltaea’s face to meet her own again. “Anyways. For now, you can borrow one of my spare robes. Since there’s nothing remotely suitable for a woman of your sharpness in here -” she slides the black silk robe into Voltaea’s hands and feels something like hunger roiling her gut. - this will have to do.” She smirks. You’re going to look absolutely delicious in this, darling. 

       Alara lets her next words slip out in the sultriest whisper she can muster. “Although do be careful - it might be short on you.” The result is immediate - satisfying. The girl blazes red - her hand trembling as she fumbles around with the robe like she’s been tossed a hot iron and can’t figure out how to drop it quick enough. 

       “Um…” You poor thing. Are you flustered? Burning hot, even? This is almost too easy. “Are you going to leave?” Oh no, darling. Not unless you beg me to. 

       “Um…” She can see her future victor trying to claw her way out of her skin, trying to challenge her, trying to explain away the feeling she can see so clearly written across her girl’s face.  Digging your way into that gorgeous scar won’t save you from yourself.  Alara grabs ahold of her hand, to pull the nails back out again before she reopens the cuts from earlier and bleeds all over the new carpets. Her girl finally musters the courage to speak again. “I need to get dressed.” Modesty. I remember modesty. That was such a long time ago. The stim-itch in her teeth rises in a violent crescendo and she has to bite down to chase it off. Or, she thinks it’s the stims. It’s better than the alternative that she has doubts . 

       You have this girl wrapped around your finger already, don’t get cold feet. “I hate to break it to you darling,” You’re doing her a favor, you’re helping her cope, you’re helping her live, you’re helping her WIN. All you’re going to do is tell her the truth and let her make her own choices. All the self-coaching in the world and she still can’t help the drip of regret that drops into her voice. “But the Capitol is going to rip that modesty from you whether you like it or not. Best to get over it now, don’t you think?”

       It’s then that she drops her girl's hand - the sharp uptick in her pulse enough to tell Alara she’s had the desired effect. She does her best to look patient, imposing, but she can feel the tapping of her fingers doing their best to chase away her tremor again and knows Voltaea must see it too. Sigh. She’s still just standing there. Alara cocks her head to the side, making a show of looking out the window rather than directly at the poor thing. “Go on, then. I’ll be here - for practice.”

       Out of the corner of her eye, Alara sees the younger woman turn slightly away from her - but she’s fumbling with the robe with intent now. She can feel her own heartbeat rumbling into her throat now, that thundering rhythm that tells her one thing - she’s won. The girl undoes the first button on that stiff-looking white shirt of hers and Alara digs her nails into her thighs to silence the growing burn within them. She’s turned back to face her entirely now, Volteaea hasn’t noticed. Or she doesn’t mind me watching. 

       When the girl tosses the shirt over her shoulders with the same careless flick of her wrist that Alara does when she undresses herself, she can feel herself coming undone. It’s the first time she’s seen all of her.  Even from the back, she's a sight to behold. The luscious lightning-patterned scar that strikes from her palm well up her arm and ends in scattered streaks across shoulder. Every toned, sculpted muscle from years of work - every slight curve of her body, still youthful, still sculpting - every pale, scarred, calloused inch of the girl invokes a vision of sharpness - of victory - that makes Alara’s breath catch in her throat. She’s not beautiful in the way the Capitol likes - not soft or pretty or sensual. She’s beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful - like Alara can’t tell if she’d caress her or cut her if she tried to make a move in this moment. The whisper falls from her lips without her thinking, or caring, to catch herself this time. “You’re perfect.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Floating?: Voltaea

        Voltaea Amprole practically floats into the dining car in a haze of unfamiliar feelings - Alara’s arm draped over her shoulder to guide her. There’s music playing in here. It’s the first thing she notices - an ambient, calm, flowing river of piano and flute just loud enough to cover the low wub-wub-wub-wub of the train as it rolls down the tracks. She’s so focused on the melody that she almost misses the three other people in the car. Orville and Coulomb are sat at a table eating some kind of chocolate-looking dessert, and there’s a man she doesn’t recognize - tall, dark haired, tan - like Markus. He’s younger, though, than her old foreman - less grim looking. He doesn’t speak as they enter - just watches, in what looks like a fancy dress uniform, from his position by the door. Does he work here? 

        She hasn’t been thinking clearly since her nap. Too much noise, too little sleep. I’ll catch up later. That must be it. They keep the train too warm - it makes her tired - dulls her control. Alara is leading her to a booth table, far away from the chirpy man and the weepy boy. It’ll be quieter over here. She’s too busy tuning into the music to notice what Alara is yelling to Orville – it’s only after her mentor has sat her down in the booth and is turning her face to look at hers again that she realizes someone is speaking. It’s her, of course, her voice blending seamlessly with the symphony in the background like it was meant to be set to music. “Voltaea, my sweet, stay here a moment while I fetch us something to drink.” Everything just feels warmer to her when Alara speaks. 

        I need to focus, this isn’t the time to lose touch. She watches the older woman cross to the bar counter, and her mind starts to wander again. What would my mother have to say about this? “Oh Voltaea, that traitor’s robe makes you look so thin - why don’t you wear something more modest?” Probably something like that. Ohma would say I look pretty. Maybe I do look pretty, or put together at least? 

        She looks down and examines her outfit. It’s certainly more lavish than anything she’s ever worn at home. Softer, too. The silk feels like a warm breeze against her skin. It’s roomy, she has space to spread out and relax in it. She fans herself out in the booth a bit and the fabric makes a satisfying swish when it rubs against itself. I get why she likes these, you don’t feel so stuck in them. 

        She hears Orville chirping about something to Alara. Then that siren-song cuts in again with “Not to worry, darling, we all have our days.” Ohma would like Alara too, I think. Or she’d like that she’s being kind to me at least. Maybe if I win I’ll tell her about it someday. Her thoughts come in and out in waves – she hasn’t bothered trying the scar again. It’s still buzzing, but she knows Alara won’t let her silence it if she sees. She doesn’t like it when I’m hurting, I think. It’s strange. 

        It almost doesn’t register that Alara is right next to her again until she smells the odd fruity tang of whatever is in the glasses she’s carrying as she slides into the booth beside her. Her mentor sets one of the glasses in front of her with a pitchy clink against the marbled tabletop. Her mind feels like it’s short-circuiting – buzzing – she’s suddenly acutely aware of the other woman’s proximity. The hair on her neck perks up like she’s been shocked. “Um. Alara?” she whispers, not quite sure she wants the chirpy man at the far table - or the silent one in the corner for that matter – to hear anything they’re saying to each other. “You’re very close.” And very, very warm. 

        Her mentor leans in close, voice wrapped in velvet, and whispers inches from her ear. “Yes. Does that scare you?”. The thundering bassline of her heart thumps into her throat – a little, maybe. Or like I can’t think. Or breathe. She finds it easier to shake her head no than to interrogate herself further, and so she does. The hushed response makes her breath hitch. “Good. Shall we drink then?” 

        “I’ve never… I don’t know… I need to keep a clear head.” Voltaea could recall once when Jakobi showed up to work after a long night of drinking and Markus had spent the better part of an hour chewing him out for the smell of it on his breath and the stumble in his step when he walked on-site that day. “That stuff makes you slow and stupid, Amprole, never touch it. Be a real shame to dull a mind like yours. Ruined twenty years of my life with that shit.” That had been his response to her when she’d asked about the incident after - but he never elaborated any further about how exactly he’d ruined his life. 

        “I promise you darling, I offer nothing but clarity here.” She gives her shoulder a light squeeze of encouragement. “I want you ready for training, which means we need to calm those nerves and sharpen that mind of yours.” She pushes the glass into Voltaea’s hand. 

        “Alara I really… I don’t…” She shifts in her seat, feeling the static buzz in her head rise as her thoughts scatter. She tries to dig her nails into her scar absentmindedly but Alara quickly pulls them out again with her clawed hand, the one over her shoulder pulling her closer for a moment. 

        “Voltaea.” Her voice is firm but drenched in decadence. “I really wish you wouldn’t hurt yourself.” Her mentor adjusts her slightly, bringing her back into that overwhelming emerald gaze. “I know it’s a lot to ask, given the circumstances, to have you take a leap into something so unknown.” She uses her free hand to grasp one of Voltaea’s. “I do hope you’ll consider, I think your nerves will thank us both after.” 

        This feels wrong. She contrasts the cold looks her mother used to give her with the warmth-filled ones Alara does. No, you're just not used to someone caring. Her heartbeat creeps higher into her throat, the static in her ears starts to drown out the music around them. Calm. The burning has crept back into her scar but she can't do a thing to silence it under her watch. Collected. She settles on trying to breathe in rhythm with the thumping of the moving train beneath them. Controlled? 

        Voltaea carefully raises the glass to her nose to take a whiff of the strange substance. It smells like fruit that's gone a little bad in the sun, but still sweet. Her face scrunches slightly in reply. Eugh. “It tastes better than it smells.” The whisper wraps around her ear like a silk thread. I... trust her. I think. Not to get me killed, at least. 

        “Sometimes, you just have to do the thing that makes you twitch. You can’t run the numbers on everything, Amprole.” Voltaea can practically hear Markus’s gravelly guidance. I don’t know if he means like this. She tosses the second thought, and tilts the glass back to her mouth. 

        If she felt warm before - it was nothing compared to the heat pouring down her throat at that moment. A blazing, burning heat tinged with the taste of sweetness and old fruits and something… chemical. She can’t place it. She feels every nerve in her body start thrumming with something like power in response to the intrusion and the faint buzz of static in her ears almost seems to lift slightly. 

        Alara gives her a smile and a small nod of approval, squeezing her shoulder again. Good girl. She hadn’t said the words this time but Voltaea can still hear their siren song. The hot, burning, rotting sweetness hits her again as she takes another drink. “It’s… warming?” her words sound heavier when they roll off of her tongue - slower, denser, harder to use. The static is quieting, but that just makes it harder to ground her thoughts. 

        “Yes, wine does have that effect.” There’s the honey-coated chuckle again. I’m good at this, hah. Her mentor picks up her own glass, and raises it - motioning for Voltaea to do the same. Then, she taps the glasses together with a clink of glass that seems to be echoing more than it did earlier. Neat. “A toast to the future victor of the 60th Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in your favor, darling.” 

        Alara tilts her head back fully, downing the entire glass of wine in half-a-minute with a practiced gulp-gulp-gulp. Did I do it wrong? Hang on. Voltaea attempts the same maneuver and gags after the first huge gulp hits the back of her throat at the wrong angle. It takes everything in her to choke back the urge to spit the entire thing back out like she's discharging an old battery - she puts the wine down for a moment to breathe.

        Before she can release her grip, she feels Alara’s free hand slide over hers to guide the glass back up to a less aggressive pouring angle. “Here - you have to pace it right if you’re going to try and drink it all at once like that - do it this way.” Oh, okay. She lets her mentor guide the glass back to her lips again. “ Open .” 

        It doesn’t taste so bad the third time. It almost sounds like the piano-and-flute in the background are slowing with each gulp, the wub-wub-wub of the train gets further apart. She can feel the bassline of her heart receding - slowing - calming . When Voltaea tilts her head to look around the dining car it feels like she’s trying to move through sand. She sees the silent man in the corner doing something strange with his hands - it almost… looks like signing . Lorelai had taught her a few similar hand signs to clear up what she was saying over the winds at work. Useful, spares the lungs from all that yelling. 

        She feels a pull from her mentor, places the empty glass down - the clink is louder - it’s like she can feel it echo through the back of her skull. Alara speaks again - whispered, lush, warming . “There, that’s better isn’t it?”  Voltaea nods - she feels something like a smile spreading across her face without thinking about it. 

        “Y-you…” Her tongue feels like it’s too big for her mouth when she speaks - it makes her voice sound different - her mind is too syrupy to work out why. “You’re good at teaching.” The way Alara’s laugh echoes through her whole body makes her feel lighter - I’m floating now - not falling - hah. She pulls her hand away from Alara’s, gently, and lifts inches from her face - her fingers look longer than she remembers, her hands weigh more too. Teslene … would have so many things … to say about this. She can’t come up with any right now, just slowly lets the thoughts pass her by as she wiggles her fingers and giggles. 

        Chirp, chirp, chirp - chirp chirp! Chirp chirp. She half-hears Orville say something to Coulomb. Forgot you were here, oops. She swears she feels herself sinking into the cushions of the booth, and leans towards Alara for steadiness - wrapping an uneasy arm around her mentor's midsection to catch herself. “ I’m sinking ” her words sound far away, like someone else is saying them - she can’t feel her lips move. 

        “You’re fine darling, it’s just the wine…” She feels the arm around her shoulder pull her closer - burying her face slightly into Alara’s shoulder - brushing across her crimson silk robe and closing her eyes to savor the feeling of it. Soft. The voice burrows deeper into her head with every echoing word. “There, that’s it… relax. Don’t fight it - let it calm you.” Calm. 

        “Your voice is pretty. Like music." It's as if someone else is speaking the words before Voltaea has a chance to stop them. She can hear Alara’s breathing so clearly with her head like this, and feels the slight hitch in the rhythm when she says this. Her mind starts drifting as she listens, but she can’t seem to hang onto the thoughts for more than a second before they float away from her again. She hears Alara sing something in response, but whatever the words are, she can’t grasp them. 

        Tired… Can't think tired. She hears a crackling sound from the speakers - interrupting the river of piano-and-flute that’s been running through the room. Voltaea opens her eyes slightly - but feels like she’s falling when she does and shuts them again. There’s a voice over the speakers - crackling with static interference. All she catches from it are the words “Vox and phone”. She feels Alara shift in the seat next to her. 

        “Voltaea… Have… call… be back… hour … good girl… stay put” Try as she might she only catches about half of what her mentor is telling her and scowls at her useless brain. Listen! She can’t open her eyes. Too heavy. 

        She feels Alara gingerly guiding her into a semi-lying position in the booth, adjusting the robe with a swish against Voltaea’s skin. She hadn’t noticed it slipping. The booth is very soft, very plush. She feels herself sinking again - the music in the car drifting further away - blessed silence from the static in her ears - and falls asleep within moments. Calm. She doesn’t dream. 

        After what feels like an eternity of blissful emptiness, she feels something tap-tap-tapping on her hand. When she opens her eyes again, the lighting in the car is different - like evening has started to pour in through the windows. She blinks. Looks around. Where’d she go? 

        The silent, tanned man in the dress uniform is still standing at his post by the doorway - no sign of Orville or his chirping - or Alara and her velvet-draped voice. What she does see, however, is Coulomb - who has jumped backwards from the booth upon seeing her eyes open. 

        “Are you awake?” His voice is a soft, delicate whisper wrapped with sadness. It reminds her of Ohma poking her awake on those mornings where she’d overslept for work. Voltaea’s ears buzz at the thought. Everything feels… heavy. She looks at the weepy boy - no tears in his eyes now - not weepy - and nods to him. 

        “Mr. Orville said I should stay in my sleeper car but I remembered you didn’t eat anything earlier.” The boy turns around to grab a plate and fork from the table behind him - there’s some kind of cake on it. He clinks the plate down softly on the table in front of her and slides it closer with a light scrape. He’s still whispering. “I had his friend get more chocolate torte. It’s tasty.” 

        “Where’d they go? Orville and Alara?” she doesn’t look at the cake for more than a second - her stomach feels like tangled cables that she can't unhitch. 

        “Mr. Orville had to do something with the wardrobe people. Ms. Vox is still on the phone, I think, in her room.” The concern the boy has on his face when he speaks to her makes her stomach wind tighter and her spine buzz with static. 

        Her thoughts still feel like they’ve been thrown into the laundry and spun for hours - she can’t make sense of anything. When did she leave? Did I fall asleep again? Shit. Coulomb is still staring up at her with those sad eyes of his - she swears she can hear him sniffling when he breathes. “Why did you bring me food?” 

        “Oh…” he shuffles uncomfortably for a moment - his shoes squeak off the floor of the dining car and Voltaea grabs her left ear to stop the stabbing it causes. “My dad used to drink a lot of ‘shine - it’s like the stuff you had but different, I think. He said it helped him feel human again to get something to eat. I figured you… might need it.” Why is everyone being so nice here? 

        Voltaea swallows her discomfort enough to say “Thanks.” to the boy, and half-heartedly grabs the fork to dig in. Her stomach is screaming at her not to eat anything, but the sad little boy at the end of the table seems so insistent on taking care of her right now. She takes a bite - it is tasty, he’s not wrong about that. She has to chew far longer than she’s used to to coax herself into swallowing. Coulomb is still staring. He needs something. He wants to ask a question, he’s fidgeting.

        “Do you need something?” she asks through a mouthful of torte and heaviness that make her words sound like mush . Everything feels too slow - the sounds, her thoughts, the movements she makes. Get it together. 

        The boy is practically shaking - she watches him take a deep, rattling breath to steady himself. “I’m scared…” he speaks so quietly she almost misses it. She hears the tears in his voice before she sees them in his eyes again. “I know Ms. Vox likes you more, but I need to learn stuff too. Can you help?” 

        “I’m supposed to train a victor. Tell me this, do you really think he has a chance?” She’s right. I know she is. I hate that she is. She can’t see anything like victory in Coulomb’s eyes. Only desperation. Fear. Voltaea still reaches across the table - offering the boy a handshake. “I can’t promise I can help with Alara” She knows for a fact she won’t convince her, but can’t bear to tell him that. “But I’ll try to teach you a few things - if she won’t.” 

          He grabs her hand and shakes. “Okay, deal.” he forces a small smile through his sadness. “And I can have Mr. Orville get us sweets. He’s weird, but he’s nice. I like him.” 

        “Alara’s nice too.” She’s not sure what possesses her to say it. “I like her.” A lot, it seems. Wait. The electro-static burning rushes back to her cheeks when she speaks. It's still too warm. 

        Coulomb makes a strange face at her. It's something half torn between concern and questioning. Whatever he’s thinking, he seems to bite it back, because he just straightens his face out and says “I should go back to my room, in case Mr. Orville gets worried. Thanks, Voltaea.” he pauses for a moment. “Your sister’s nice to me too. She’s friends with mine.” 

        She has no idea what to say to this - her mind is so full of fragmented thoughts and wine-slush that she can’t quite grasp the impact. She just nods, solemnly. “I know.” 

        Coulomb gives her a half-hearted wave, then turns to leave the dining car. As he walks past the tanned, silent man by the door, he sees them wave to each other too. It’s going to hurt when he dies, isn’t it? 

        She’s suddenly aware of the deafening silence in the room again - the kind that makes the static in her ears buzz like something is trying to escape. She can’t hear the wub-wub-wub of the train moving over the noise - her heartbeat is too slow to be a serviceable bassline. The hairs on her neck prickle like she’s been shocked. I should… get up…

        Voltaea places both hands on the tabletop to steady herself and pushes up out of the booth - then falls backwards in a heap. It's like someone’s weighted every limb with lead to throw her off balance. Ugh. Dizzy. 

        When she picks her head back up she notices that the silent man in the dress uniform has crossed the room to her side - holding out a hand to her - an offer of help. I got it. She tries to push herself up again and loses balance. Okay, no I don’t. 

        Voltaea grasps the man’s hand and he pulls her to her feet - allowing her to drape an arm around him to steady herself. “Can you take me to Alara? I should apologize for sleeping.” He doesn’t look at her, doesn’t say a word. He just walks towards the doorway to the dining car with her half-dazed form stumbling alongside. 

        She tries to get a rhythm going, focusing on the shuffling of her feet along the hallway carpets and making a low humming noise in her throat as they move. She isn’t quite sure where they’re headed - this feels like the way to her own sleeper car. “We’re going to her room right?” She mostly asks to ease the burning, churning feeling rising in her chest. The man says nothing, just keeps walking - making sure Voltaea stays upright and moving forward. Sure, sounds good, thanks. 

        She counts the hiss of each door as they pass it. They’re nearly to her own quarters now - they’ve just stepped into the hallway outside. “Please, can I see her first? I don’t need to sleep yet, really.” The silent man leads them straight past the door to her room, further down the hallway until they reach the very end. Voltaea can hear Alara’s honeyed cackle coming from the other side of the door and feels something strange, bundled, and churning well up in her chest. Who are you laughing with?

        He knocks then - once, then four times, then twice in rhythm - like his own personal beat. She can’t make out what’s being said on the other side of the door - only that song-like voice speaking to someone and then cutting off. Everything is still so sluggish that it feels like an eternity passes between the time the voice stops and when the door hisses open in front of them.

        Alara is standing in the doorway, still dressed in the same crimson-silk robe and slippers from earlier that make her legs look twice as long. Her pristine, red curls drip just above her chin and frame her face like it’s a work of art on display. Her expression shifts from rageful confusion to bemusement the second she sees its Voltaea standing there - though she spares an especially venomous glance towards the silent man she’s hanging onto for a moment before speaking. 

        “Voltaea, darling, I thought I told you to wait for me in the dining car?” Voltaea has to steady herself on the silent man to stop from leaning into the sheer warmth of Alara’s voice. Her mentor turns to address him directly, her voice sharpening to that tone of command she uses with the chirpy one. “You’ve done enough. Leave her with me - you can go back to whatever corner you’re assigned to brood in today.”  

        She feels the tingling heat of Alara’s arm wrapping around her shoulder again and releases her grip on the silent man, slumping slightly into her mentor’s side to hold herself upright. “I forgot… sorry.” she mumbles, burying the side of her face in the silk robe again. 

        “I also told you to stop apologizing…” Voltaea feels herself being led into the room, the door closing behind them with a final hiss . “...perhaps the wine affected you more than I thought, hm?” There’s a note that sounds like teasing in her voice - the static warmth rises in response. 

        Alara leads her to a red-cushioned piece of furniture that looks like a couch had a child with a fancy bed - it’s foreign to her, but she lets the older woman guide her into a half-lying position on it anyways. Alara slides onto the other side of the couch-thing, lifting Voltaea’s legs to make room for herself and then letting them drape across her lap as she settles. She likes to be close - that means I’m doing well, right? 

        She closes her eyes to try and feel out the tune of the sleeper car. There isn’t music like where she was before - just the low wub-wub-wub-wub of the train’s movement - the slow, firm, thump-thump-thump of her own heartbeat - a slight hiss when Alara takes a breath through her nose.  

        “Open your eyes, darling - we have so much to do before we reach the Capitol.” she feels the brush of Alara’s whispered song against her ear and shocks herself awake once more. 

        “Like what?” she’s trying to blink the heavy-lidded feeling from her eyes. 

        “Well…” she feels the older woman’s hand - the one she’s filed the claws down on - tip her chin upwards to look directly into her eyes. “To start - why don’t you tell me what was in those notes of yours?” 

Chapter Text

Disarray - Alara:

        Alara Vox stalks through the rose-scented hallways of the tribute train towards her sleeper car - a woman on a mission. She’d been rudely roused from her work in the dining room by an alert about a phone call over the intercom. Selica’s never been one to take a hint. Or a hang-up. She had told Voltaea she would be back in an hour and to stay put, though she didn’t think that last instruction was entirely necessary given the absolute state of the poor thing before she left her. Just a little something to ease the nerves. 

        She’d left her space in absolute disarray before she met back up with her victor - but the cleaning crews had reordered everything into neat little piles in the time she was away. The phone receiver is neatly back on the hook next to her daybed, so she slumps down onto it and picks it up. “Selica, darling, not that I don’t enjoy your company - but I thought I told you to pack it in for the year? I’m busy training a future victor - I don’t have time for a chat at the moment” And not all of us have whole teams of other mentors to pawn our jobs off on, you Career-district twat. 

        The laughter she hears does not belong to Selica Vireaux at all. It’s a man’s laugh - deep, haunted, calculating. She recognizes the voice on the line immediately as President Snow himself. “You haven’t lost your edge, have you?” She feels ice-cold fear pour down her spine and pool around her gut. “You just hide it better now.” What does he want? 

        “Mr. President, what an unexpected surprise, I -” she’s cut off from speaking almost as quickly as she starts. 

        “No need for formalities, this will be a quick call.” She shifts uncomfortably as he speaks, eyeing the drugs spread neatly across her coffee table longingly. Gods above, did the cleaners alphabetize them? “You recall why I first asked you to come and stay in the Capitol, correct?” 

        “Of course” It was the easiest deal of her life - never having to return to the cesspit of District Five and the people there who hated her, and in return, she would be in charge of bringing Ismene Lux onboard to the Crimson Cut. 

        “This will have been cut from the broadcast by the time you see it, but there’s been… a public incident at the District Eight Reaping ceremony.” She can practically taste the blood in his breath through the receiver. “A set of fraternal twins were chosen this year - very popular locally, it seems.” Oh, Ismene is going to love the tragedy of it all. “It went over poorly with the public.” 

        She mulls his words over for a moment “Shall I work over our mistress of melancholia once again to sway the narrative, or did you have something else in mind?” She’s trying to keep her trademark snark in her tone but her voice wavers - she digs her still-sharpened nails into her thigh. 

        “No, I think Miss Lux will fall in line with whatever narrative ends up benefitting her position.” Alara has to stifle a laugh. I’m not the only one who sees through the act. 

        “Tell me how I can help, then.” She feels her teeth itch with impatience, but keeps her voice cool to match his own. 

        He pauses leaving the static on the line to linger between them for a moment too long for comfort. “You left the train today, you must think you have a contender on your hands.” 

        Shitfuckshitfuckshit. He saw that. FUCK! He knows about her - no use playing coy now, Alara. Find out what he wants. “I do, sir.” Too formal, he’ll smell your fear. “You know I have an eye for greatness - I’m confident I’ve found it in Voltaea this year.” she can taste copper on her tongue again. 

        “Good. Does she listen to you?” she digs her nails in deeper, something about his tone makes her gut churn. He’s plotting. I hate when he’s plotting. 

        She hesitates before she speaks again. I never wanted him to see you this soon, darling, but it seems like we’ll have to play the game. “She listens enough to learn.” 

        “Then you’ll have no issues getting her to take care of the twins before they become… symbolic.” There it is... not the worst thing he’s ever asked of me, thank the Gods. 

        “Of course. I’ll make sure to… emphasise the danger of such a strong bond in her opponents. She’ll put it together.” 

        “Make sure she does. I’ll be watching.” the line clicks dead before she has a chance to think of a response. 

        Alara sits there, sprawled across the daybed with the dead receiver in her hand, having one of those rare moments where she’s at a loss for words. She takes a glass vial out of her coat pocket - it’s the same stuff she had put into her girl’s drink earlier to calm her nerves a bit. Calm and euphoria in a bottle - not as strong as the pills she took earlier to counter the stims - just enough to take the edge off. 

        She doesn’t bother putting it into a drink, just pours a small amount onto her palm and then tips it into her mouth - letting the burning, chemical sensation of the substance sink beneath her tongue. It only takes a minute or so to start its work - the Capitol folk do love their instant gratification.

        Alara takes a plush pillow from the bed and cradles it under her neck, leaning into the floating sensation the drugs are creating. Calm . She lets the sensation wrap around her and carry her away from her thoughts for what she thinks is several minutes, closing her eyes and relishing the silence. Collected. She refuses to let herself fall asleep, instead digging her nails into her thigh once more and pulling herself back to consciousness. Controlled. Ah. That’s much better. 

        Now, what was I doing? She’s dialing a number into the phone before she has a chance to think about it. Selica Vireaux’s capitol-caged accent chimes through the speakers. “There’s only three people who call my private line on Reaping Day, which one are you?” 

        “Hello my love, this is Caesar Flickerman calling to follow up on our absolutely salacious evening last month, perhaps you’re ready for another?” She puts forth her very best attempt at mimicking the obnoxious tone the man takes in interviews every year but she’s giggling too much to pull it off. 

        “Alara dear! I’m so glad you called back. Although I thought I told you never to mention the Flickerman incident again under penalty of death?” 

        “Selica, darling, I’m a terrible listener; you know that as well as anyone.” Alara twirls a crimson curl around one of her declawed fingers as she speaks – it keeps her from tapping or digging her nails.

        “Better, I’d bet.” Selica mumbles when she says it. True. “I thought you were busy with your shiny new favorite – what happened, hm? Bored already?”

        “No, nothing like that. She’s absolutely perfect – I couldn’t be more thrilled.” Alara drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper – every performative pretense dropping at once. “This isn’t about my future victory tour. It’s about the call I just received from the fucking President of Panem – did you get one as well?”

        “Hang on a moment, dear.” She can hear Selica putting the receiver down and yelling for several of her staff members to leave her alone at once. After what seems like an eternity, she hears Selica speak again. She’s dropped the accent. Funny how that works when there isn’t an audience to play for. “I received no such calls. What did he want?”

        “He’s specifically requested my tribute kill the twins that Our Princess of Self-Pity will be mentoring this year. Rebel tendencies - he wants to guarantee their early death.” She can’t help but squeeze in the jab at Ismene - though she hears the sigh she gets from Selica and almost regrets it. Almost.

        “I wish you’d be just a touch nicer to her. Our jobs would be far easier if you weren’t so insistent with your needling - Half of her on-air breakdowns during last year’s games were on your hands .” She hears Selica light a cigarette. She must be stressed about this if she’s smoking again. “Strange that he’d ask you over me, though. I might be offended if I weren’t such a good sportswoman.” 

        “Not strange if you think about it. Your careers are one and the same as the Capitol as far as the outer districts are concerned. Five has a bit more distance, anyways - plausible deniability. ” Alara drops her voice in a poor impersonation of Snow for her last words - it was something he’d said to the two of them on several occasions when making these sorts of secret requests. He’s always looking to skirt the blame, isn’t he? 

        She hears Selica take a long drag of her cigarette, and cough before responding. “He saw you get off the train, then?” 

        “And?” Alara’s tone sharpens slightly, not entirely certain of what her sister-in-sin is implying. 

        “So either he trusts your instincts or knows you're…” There’s a pause while Selica mulls her words. “...personally invested in this girl of yours.” 

        She's right. I hate when she’s right, ugh, one point to Selica. “I would imagine it’s a bit of column A and column B.” 

        “Can I ask why you’re so intrigued with this one, or would that be a violation of your grand design ?” Selica’s voice drips slightly with sarcasm, but the question is earnest. 

        I’d rather you didn’t. I’d rather not think about it myself. Alara answers anyways - she can’t help it with Selica. She’s the only person alive who’s seen her at her worst and stuck by her. “I see myself in her… not me now, mind, more so like me back then . She’s already half-dead inside but still has that drive to survive - you know the one.” She rummages around in the snack box she keeps next to the bed while she speaks but doesn’t find anything that appeals in the moment. “I mean, Gods, Selica, you should have seen how her mother treated her during their last goodbyes. Like ice, that woman - not a single care that her eldest was off to the arena.” 

        “Is this coldness common with the mothers in District Five or did you two just pull the unlucky cards?” Selica’s voice is teasing but her words cut too deeply. 

        “Don’t talk about my mother you -” Alara is cut off by Selica’s immediate recanting. 

        “Sorry! I am sorry, really, Alara dear. That was tasteless. Blame the wine, I’ve had too much today." She hears Selica putting out her cigarette after a particularly terrible coughing fit before she speaks again. “Look, it’s awful that he’s put you on the spot like this - and your girl. But we all do what we have to do to keep the world moving. Do what he asks. Don’t hesitate. Not if you value your life - or hers.” 

        “Trust me, darling, I’m plotting the deaths of those rabble-rousing little shits as we speak.” Alara pushes away any doubts she has and tastes the thrill of victory on her tongue again. Two out of twenty-three that we won’t have to worry about contending with you, my little spark. 

        “Oh good, I was beginning to think you’d gone soft on me after all this time!” They both laugh. We both know better than that. 

        It’s then that Alara hears a distinctively patterned knock at her door. Has the avox come with dinner already? What time is it? She glances out the window - it’s evening now, far later than she had intended. I must have dozed off earlier. Sorry, darling, I’ll be there soon. 

        “Selica, I have to go - though I assure you this time it’s not just me being cheeky. Duty, you know, all that.” 

        “I heard the knock, good luck with Snow. I’ll see you tomorrow when we arrive - don’t hesitate to stop by our suite! I would so love to show you Cymbria, she’s really turned out to be quite -” 

        She hangs up the receiver before Selica can finish bragging about her tribute. Well, there’s one point to me, at least. 

        Alara pries herself from her daybed, still slightly spongy-feeling from the drugs she took earlier, and puts on her best look of disgust and anger before marching to the door. She opens it, ready to lecture the silent creature with the stupid knock before she sees him standing there with Voltaea wrapped around him like she's clinging to a liferaft. I perhaps overestimated your tolerance, darling, you look absolutely wrecked. 

        She can’t help looking amused at her future victor dangling off the avox like that - she’s positively unstable. She does, however, shoot him a glare that tells him this sort of closeness will not be tolerated in the future. “Voltaea, darling, I thought I told you to wait for me in the dining car?” Her voice is soft, teasing when she speaks to the girl. She grants the avox the same tone she does to Orville when he’s being particularly dense . “You’ve done enough. Leave her with me - you can go back to whatever corner you’re assigned to brood in today.”  

        Alara wraps her arm around Voltaea to steady her - she’s wobbling like a newborn deer and practically faceplants into Alara’s shoulder. “I forgot… sorry.” She tries to hide her face in the silk of Alara’s robe. 

        “I also told you to stop apologizing - perhaps the wine affected you more than I thought, hm?” Alara lets a note of humor drip into her voice. She leads her girl into the sleeper car, shutting the door behind them and leaving Orville’s avox to whatever it is that he does around here. 

        Alara sprawls the poor, intoxicated thing out on her daybed, propping her head semi-upright with a plush pillow. She hears Voltaea audibly sigh with relief as she relaxes into the pillow. Make yourself comfortable. We’re going to sharpen that edge of yours tonight. 

        She sits herself on the opposite side of the daybed, lifting Voltaea’s legs to make room for herself and letting them drop gently in her lap. When Alara looks over, she realizes her girl is already halfway between consciousness and sleep. You sleep around me like you’re not broken. It’s almost a shame I have to change that. Alara beats back the sentimental taste rising in her throat. We have a game to win. 

        She leans over Voltaea to whisper directly into her ear - an attempt to seduce her to alertness. “Open your eyes, darling - we have so much to do before we reach the Capitol.” The response is immediately satisfying - Voltaea jolts awake, beet-red and blinking furiously like it’ll somehow scare her exhaustion away. 

        When she speaks her words are still slurred with sleep and spiked wine. “Like what?”

        “Well…” Alara leans back slightly, cupping Voltaea’s chin with her clawed hand to coax her to look into her eyes. You look about a million miles away, darling. “To start - why don’t you tell me what was in those notes of yours?” She releases her chin and rests her hands on her girl’s legs. 

        She can feel the tension that shoots through Voltaea’s body immediately. Are you going to go into rigor mortis every time I ask you a technical question? She runs her fingernails down the girl’s calf and she nearly shoots off of the bed trying to move away. Not quite what I intended. 

        Voltaea’s face has started pouring sweat, she’s nearly shaking. “Please. I don’t….” she cuts herself off. 

        “You don’t, what, darling, finish a sentence?” Alara realizes immediately that she failed to keep the note of sharpness from her voice when the girl practically recoils from her - she almost looks like she’s going to cry. 

        Then, her girl breaks - spectacularly - she starts practically yelling her words in reply. “I just don’t understand what’s happening today! Everything was supposed to go the way I planned it - I had EVERY PIECE worked out! ALL OF THEM! I get reaped, I say nothing - give them no feeling, I give my sister a hug and I tell her she’s going to be fine without me - then I get on the train and I go off to fight and probably die. No part of my plan involved any of this - none of my notes accounted for this - I …. I … ” Voltaea presses her face into the pillow and screams atonally. Alara can’t help but smile. The drugs certainly haven’t taken the fight out of you, have they? 

        She gives Voltaea a minute to wear herself out - she’s shaking the whole time she screams into the pillow - it doesn’t take long before she's hoarse, limp, and half-sobbing. Alara wraps her hand with the nails around the back of Voltaea’s head and begins running them along her scalp again. She bristles at first, then relaxes into the sensation with a soft gasp. Alara whispers, leaning closer as she speaks “Are you finished, darling?” 

        Her girl doesn’t speak, just nods defeatedly and continues burying her face into the pillow. Alara can hear the sobs now despite her best efforts to mask them. She doesn’t say anything for a while - she isn’t really sure what to say, in this instance. I do wish you’d stop crying so we could speak like adults. 

        The scent of fear - sweat, salt, something sickly - has overtaken the artificial rose in the air. Alara contemplates digging into her stims again if only to burn a different sensation into her nose. It’s not time for that yet. The sobs seem to be slowing into a more controlled rhythm - she hasn’t stopped scratching lightly at Voltaea’s scalp. Eventually, she speaks - it's soft and still slightly choked with tears. “I don’t know what just happened.” Voltaea looks up at her from the pillow - eyes red, tear-streaked, and desperate for answers. You look disastrous. 

        Alara considers her next words carefully - Wouldn’t do to drive you to tears again. “Nobody can plan for how they’ll actually feel on their Reaping Day. Perhaps I shouldn’t have brought up your notes so soon. It’s clear you aren’t ready for that sort of -” 

        “No! I mean. I can talk about the notes it's just. I. Everything else. Why? Shit - ” Alara watches as Voltaea closes her eyes, takes an enormous breath, and digs her nails into her scarred palm. She doesn’t interfere - this time. I’d like to see your technique up close. After a few deep breaths, her girl opens her eyes again. “- Okay. I have to say something.”

        “I’m all ears, darling.” She stops scratching for a moment, letting her hand rest on Voltaea’s head in an attempted gesture of calm. Her girl stays balled up in the corner of the daybed huddling the pillow, staring at her with half-teary eyes. 

        Voltaea’s voice drops to a whisper, “I thought you were going to be awful, and now my whole plan is thrown off.” 

        Alara feels her breath catch - Oh? She studies the younger woman’s face for a moment, searching for anything that seems vaguely like insincerity - but finds nothing. The poor thing earnestly means what she’s saying to her. She feels her gut churn with an unfamiliar feeling. Something like… discomfort with her actions thus far. Oh stop, you’re not one to sit around feeling guilty.

        Alara ignores her own internal coaching. Her response to her girl is hushed - she doesn’t think about the words much, if she did she might realize she’s betraying herself a bit. “I don’t think you know me well enough to be making those kinds of character judgements, darling.” 

        Voltaea gives her a strange, furrowed, confused look - like she can’t fathom there’s any other way to see Alara than as whatever image she has built up in her head. She looks at her like she wants to speak, but has to break eye contact before her words will come out properly - looking off into the distance at a sculpted bust Alara keeps in the corner of the sleeper car. She still can't muster more than a whisper. “You’re the only person besides Ohma who’s ever hugged me, at least that I can remember. I’ve been so alone for so long. Even when everyone is around, they don’t really see me. And then there you are - telling me you think I can win - nobody else has ever had that kind of confidence. If anything - you don’t know me well enough to say that. But I think you do it because you’re… good… to me, anyway.” Gods above, you truly have no idea. Absolutely clueless. And yet… endearing? 

        Alara shifts a hand to the younger woman’s cheek and tilts it gently towards her - no force this time, just to coax her back into the moment. You beautiful, tragic thing. Voltaea’s blue-grey eyes are bloodshot and glassy from crying still - her hair has half-collapsed out of that aggressively tight bun she keeps it in and is stuck haphazardly to the sweat on her face. She brushes it back and the girl flushes in response. There, there. You’ll figure it out soon enough. Alara’s next words are a promise, she’s dropped the performative tone from her voice entirely. “Voltaea. I will never allow you to feel alone again.” 

        Voltaea looks for a second like she might start sobbing again when the words hit her. Instead, she sits bolt upright and flings her arms around Alara’s neck - pulling her into a tight embrace. You really do crave that softer touch, don’t you? She returns it, wrapping her own arms around her girl’s midsection and pulling her into her lap. They both shift uncomfortably for a moment trying to accommodate Voltaea’s height, but she eventually straddles her legs over Alara’s and settles in, burying her face in her neck in such a way that Alara can feel every quickening breath from her lips. 

        Alara for the first time is very aware of how tight her girl’s core muscles are - Practically steel, Gods! She absentmindedly runs her hands over Voltaea’s back and sides drinking in every inch of her. She feels an all-too-familiar heat blooming somewhere low and deep within her - her heartbeat rises like she’s just dosed herself - she can taste copper on her tongue again. You really are perfect, aren’t you? She studies her girl for a moment, looking for signs of a response as she feels her own face start to flush. I wonder if you feel that same heat when you look at me? 

        You can’t let her win so easily, she’ll never learn that way. The sensible side of her pipes up to intervene in her fit of emotion. Alara feels the younger woman fidgeting in her lap - and grins as she realizes exactly how she can test for a reaction from this position. She shifts her left leg slightly - a subtle move - but one that lets her thigh press directly into Voltaea’s center. The gasping moan is instantaneous and her girl whips her head back away from her neck with a look of scandalized surprise on her face - it fades to something halfway between confusion and yearning. She doesn’t move away. Delicious, thank you darling.

        The two lock eyes for a moment but Alara notices the younger woman’s gaze slip down to her lips and linger there. Has no one ever taught you subtlety? They don’t move, Alara keeps her hands cradled deliberately around Voltaea’s hips. She can see her chest rise and fall rapidly - almost panicked - like a rat in a trap. Practically every visible inch of her pale skin has taken on a flushed tone. The poor thing is slick with sweat and smells faintly of need now instead of fear. Alara calms her own breathing - but she can feel the mask of composure slipping from her face as she tries to fight the smirk creeping into the corner of her lips. It has to be your choice, darling.

        Voltaea blinks, shudders, and shifts herself slightly. Her nails dig lightly into the back of Alara’s neck - like she’s grasping for that gorgeous scar - clinging to some kind of control she can’t quite reach. She can't stifle the small gasp at the contact. That’s fine darling, I don’t mind at all, take all the time you need. Voltaea finally speaks, half breathless. It’s not what Alara expected. “The first notes I took were on past victors - I figured if I was going to live, the best way to learn would be from the people who did it before me…”

Chapter Text

Logic: Voltaea 

        Voltaea Amprole has no idea how she ended up here. Not in Alara’s sleeper car - she remembers the silent man bringing her there, leaning into the sound of Alara’s voice, nearly falling asleep to the gentle wub-wub-wub-wub of the train through the soundproof floors. What she’s having trouble remembering is what logical thought went into her throwing herself into her mentor’s lap - she recalls yelling a lot - maybe something to do with that? No. It was Alara. In that honey-dipped, velvet-wrapped, song-strung voice of hers, she had told her “Voltaea. I will never allow you to feel alone again.” That’s what broke her control - and now the plan is really thrown off. 

        She’s buried her face in the warmth of her mentor’s neck - half because she can’t bring herself to look at her ever again after such a display of weakness - half because she can’t bear to be apart from that feeling of being seen again. Why am I like this? I’m ruining everything. This is so awkward. I don’t want to leave. I’m too tall to be sitting like this. Please just throw me off now and go away and leave me here to die. Her mind is running the same circuits over and over - she can hear herself breathing too heavily - the heat is absolutely unbearable. She can’t bring herself to pull back, even to stop the sweat pouring off of her face. 

        She can feel Alara’s pulse beating against her lips - thump-thump-thump-thump . It’s a few beats slower than the bassline of her own heart, but still too fast - not calm . Then her mentor’s hands start to move over her back - down her sides - over her hips - like she’s not sure where to put them. Or maybe she knows exactly where to put them, because every time she shifts the silk robe against Voltaea’s skin she feels live - like she’s been plugged into some current of pure energy and warmth. Her stomach spins and flips with every movement - she’s felt like this only once before and she tries to chase the memory away before it infects her thoughts even further. She fails.

        She’d been at the library in District Five until closing that night. The young woman who works there - the one with the voice like summer rainfall - had taken up in the chair next to her to give her a whole storm's worth of information that she couldn’t quite follow regarding some Capitol gossip show she watched every night after work. Voltaea hadn’t minded - she liked listening to her talk - even if it wasn’t really what she came here for that night. Then she asked a question “Do you really think you’re gonna be chosen? That’s why you come here right?” 

        Voltaea hadn’t answered right away. She hadn’t realized she’d started to cry until the other woman clasped a hand over her arm in a gesture of comfort. It had hit her like a lightning bolt - a static, burning, tingling feeling that spread across her whole body and coiled itself somewhere deep in her lower gut and had completely overwhelmed her. She looked at the other woman then, studying every inch of her like a work of art on display. She’d wanted to kiss her. She didn’t know where the urge came from. She’d never had any interest in doing that before - not with the boys at school, not with anyone. It was terrifying. 

        It was at that point that Voltaea stood up, apologized profusely - claiming a sudden stomach bug had overcome her - and ran out of the library faster than she’d ever run before. They never spoke about the incident again. She buried it deep in the box she keeps in the corner of her mind with all the other thoughts she can’t afford to distract her. 

        There isn’t any burying this moment, it’s here now. She’s working to center her breathing - to collect herself - when Alara shifts slightly underneath her. Her leg touches something sensitive between Voltaea’s own and every piece of composure she has shatters. The sound that escapes her lips is foreign and horrifying, she’s half tempted to cover her mouth but that would require letting go of Alara’s neck. She whips her head back to look at her mentor. What is this? Why do I feel like this? What’s wrong with me? She has a thought about what it could be - but immediately drowns the notion in the static rising in her brain. No, nope, no. Calm down. You are going to chase away the only person who cares about you here by being stupid. 

        She meets Alara’s eyes for a moment but the deep, emerald green of them is too loud to look into. The static rising in her ears has blocked out the sound of the train, so she tries to center on the hum of it - she can’t. Her eyes drift over her mentor’s face. She has that almost-too-perfect look that people who spend too long in the Capitol have - symmetrical, pristine skin, not a hair out of place. Her lips are painted a deep, blood-tinged red - they’re fuller than Voltaea’s. Her mother’s voice rings out in her mind “Voltaea why do you look like you’ve had something sour? Nevermind, it’s your lips, they’re just so thin and that face you make is so….” She cuts off Teslene’s nagging voice in her thoughts. It's easy enough to be distracted right now. Especially when Alara is looking at her like she can read her mind - the way she stares right through her. Is she smiling at me? Why? I’m a mess. Gods she’s… I just want to… No! no. I want to leave this place before I die of embarrassment. 

        Voltaea retreats into counting her breaths, blinking in time with each one. Calm? She goes to dig her nails into her scar but can’t bring herself to untangle herself from Alara’s warmth. She digs them into her neck instead like it’ll help somehow - her mentor doesn’t flinch, just lets out a slight, breathy gasp . Collected? She searches within her for something, anything, some kind of structure to cling to - a safety harness to stop her from falling. She lands on the only thing that’s kept her going for the past year - the only sense she’s been able to create from the chaos of her life. Controlled?

        Then, Voltaea finally speaks - her own voice is heavy, wavering, and wholly unfamiliar sounding, but she can’t think loud enough to drown out the feeling without saying the words aloud: “The first notes I took were on past victors - I figured if I was going to live, the best way to learn would be from the people who did it before me…” Alara raises an eyebrow and she nearly melts into her again, but continues in spite of herself. “Like you, actually. I studied your games in detail - you used the arena against your opponents for most of your kills. You managed to survive on sponsor drops and stolen food by staying away from your competition until you wanted them to see you - but you made sure the cameras always had a show. You were clever. I took extra notes on the clever ones. So I could do what you did….”  

        Alara lets her go on - and on - and on like that for well over an hour without saying a word, but she never takes her eyes off of her. Voltaea goes through every note she’s ever taken - every victor worth studying - every novel trap she’s designed - every strategy she could try to employ - details on alliances that worked or failed - even analyzing the patterns of how the Capitol reacts to different events in the arena through its myriad of gossip shows, social feeds, and fashion trends. 

        Somewhere midway into their conversation Voltaea shifts off of Alara’s lap and lies down on the strange, crimson couch-bed. It smells of smoke and sweetness that overwhelms her senses. It doesn’t stop her from talking. She can’t stop herself from talking. She rests her head in Alara’s lap so she can look up at her while she speaks - tracing designs animatedly in the air with her hands as she describes a particularly inventive way she’s devised to decapitate an opponent with a hidden wire trap. Alara seems to really enjoy that one, so she goes on about her more…. volatile designs for a while. 

        Alara is scratching at her head again while she speaks - she still continues - now on a long-winded, self-debate about whether Haymitch Abernathy won by luck or talent - she can’t decide, and Alara gives no input other than a wry smile at the mention of Voltaea’s lack of respect for the man. 

        Her rambling is only interrupted by the clicking static that marks the intercom of the train coming online. The voice of the train, as she’s come to think of it, crackles over the speakers again - “Ms. Vox, do you require your dinner to be brought to your sleeper car this evening?”. Alara swears under her breath, muttering something about rude interruptions at the most inopportune times - then reaches up to push the call button on the wall. 

        “Have one of the avox’s bring us a selection - and two table settings. I have a feeling this strategy meeting will be going on for a while yet.” Voltaea feels herself flush - not from warmth this time, more embarrassment at her rambling. I’m doing it again, like every time - too much information - I need to shut up. She calms slightly when Alara gives her a knowing smirk and a wink, gesturing with her hand to keep speaking. “Go on, then.” 

        The sky has faded to night-black outside of the window of the train and Voltaea finally feels like she can look out of it without invoking the sensation of falling off a tower. She feels the tension melting away from her body and the buzzing in her brain dulls to the point where she can finally hear the wub-wub-wub-wub of the train again. 

        “Actually, I have a question - something I never found details on when I was first researching your games.” It’s something that had eaten at her about Alara before they had met, and she’d nearly forgotten in the whirlwind of the day. 

        Alara cocks her head to the side - that IS her thinking tell. Her eyes narrow like she's slightly suspicious of what this is about. Her voice keeps that bemused purr to it, but it’s quieter, calculated. “There’s some chance I have an answer.” 

        “You killed your District partner in one of the bridge collapses you set off. Why? Isn’t that usually considered a built-in alliance? Was it an accident? Did you plan it?” 

        “That's four questions, darling.” Alara’s eyes keep darting back and forth to a box at the edge of the coffee table, nervously. She can hear her mentor’s breath hitch slightly each time she does it. Does she actually get nervous? She sees the tremor clearly acting up in Alara’s hand - she’d almost forgotten about it. She hears her sigh, long and languid, before speaking again. “I suppose I can tell you, but you won’t like all the answers you get.” 

        Voltaea feels her heart thunder into her throat again with a resounding thump . “I figured as much.” She opts for honesty - Alara would smell the lie anyways. 

        Alara reaches over Voltaea and grabs the box at the edge of the table, opening it in such a way that Voltaea can’t really see the contents. She pulls out a cigarette - like Markus smokes when he can’t get his cigars smuggled in. “Do you mind, darling?” She doesn’t actually wait for an answer before lighting it. The smell is both familiar and sickly at the same time, she isn’t sure how to feel about it. 

        “Do you have a tremor because you’re nervous?” Voltaea’s words slip before her mind has a chance to catch up. 

        “Gods above! That's a fifth question! And, your second incorrect guess in our little game.” Alara chuckles and shakes her head slightly, her voice cutting and calming all at once. She sighs, and her tone drops lower - more serious, when she speaks again. “Traditionally, your District partner isn’t always an ally - but it’s exceedingly common for them to be, yes. And no, it wasn’t an accident that I killed mine. In fact, he was the intended target of that little stunt with the glass bridge. The other one crawling across was just a happy accident.” 

        Voltaea keeps her head in Alara’s lap - she can feel the tension in her legs growing beneath her. She’s almost vibrating with energy - or nerves. She looks up at her mentor’s face only to see her staring off into the distance, like she’s trying to make sense of the swirls in the smoke pouring off her cigarette. She doesn’t speak, just lets Alara continue - she coughs first - too much smoke - and her voice is huskier when she resumes.  

        “As for why… well…” She pauses again, like she has to go digging for the words before she can speak. “His name was Tesla - sort of a twinned naming convention with his sister Teslene. I don’t think you need a primer on how cruel your mother can be, but her brother - he was a special sort of sadistic when we were young” Voltaea hears Alara’s words pour over her like a bath that’s run cold.

        “Wait. You DO know her? She had a brother? Why didn’t anyone tell me this? Why didn’t SHE tell me this?” She feels the static rising in her ears, numbing her senses. Breathe. She tries to cling to her fleeting thoughts. She feels a flash of something like rage and tries to cling to it but it’s swept away in the river of noise. She sits up slightly. Alara looks flustered. 

        “That’s four more, does this line of questioning have an end?” Alara’s voice has a snap to it now - Voltaea can feel her hand shaking nearby as it digs into her thigh. She watches her mentor close her eyes and take another drag of her cigarette. She softens herself again, letting the silky, songlike quality of her speech come through once more “I didn’t want to burden you with this, darling. Can we suffice it to say that I did what I had to do to survive?” Alara lifts her nails out of her thighs and runs them gently down Voltaea’s scalp again. She doesn’t stop her. 

        Voltaea wants to protest - feels like she should - like she should feel something, anything right now at the revelation - but all she can do is nod through the numbness. I think I understand. They sit like that for several minutes - Alara finishing her cigarette and putting it out in a nearby, half-drunk wine glass. Voltaea, leaning her head on her mentor’s lap and taking in every subtle shift in her posture, leaning into the wub-wub-wub-wub sound of the train and the sharp, rattling breaths Alara takes whenever she coughs from the smoke still lingering in the room. 

        The rhythm of the room is shattered by a familiar-patterned knock at the door. Alara sighs, then lifts Voltaea’s head gently from her lap and shifts out from under her, rising to her feet. She stays sprawled out where she is - watching her mentor stalk her way to the door and open it - revealing the tall, tanned, silent man from earlier pushing a silvery metallic cart. Alara shifts to let him pass. He wheels the cart into the center of the room, lifts the lid to the side, and gives a shallow bow in Voltaea’s direction before leaving as quickly as he came. 

        It’s a staggering spread of food - Voltaea can’t even identify most of the colorful dishes scattered atop the cart. Alara slinks her way over, her slippers softly pattering across the carpet. She produces two cloth napkins wrapped around sets of silverware with too many forks, and drags the entire cart over until it’s pressed right next to the coffee table. She hands one of the silverware sets to Voltaea. “If you’re done with your questions, you should try and eat something.” Voltaea feels a pang in her chest at the mention of her questioning and she averts her eyes. 

        “I’m s…” She cuts herself off before she apologizes - she’s intent on making sure she learns at least one lesson today. “I didn’t mean to make you upset, if I did. I just. I don’t like missing details.” she looks back up at Alara to see her head half-cocked to the side again with an unreadable expression on her face. 

        Alara pauses for a moment, then smirks. “It’s fine, darling, I assure you I’ve answered far more invasive questions in a Tuesday afternoon interview than you could ever think to ask me.” She starts setting out the plates in a buffet across the coffee table - her sharper set of nails clinks off the ceramics in a way that makes Voltaea’s hair stand on end. The sheer array of different smells coming off of the plates nearly overloads her.  She doesn’t even want to look at half of the food, it’s such an affront to the senses - let alone eat it. 

        Alara must notice something is off because she starts that siren-song again. “Shall I choose something for you to start with? Perhaps something more suited to an unrefined palette.” Voltaea flinches at the word unrefined . I don’t want to be unrefined… “Not to offend, darling, it’s just that District fare is far less… flavorful.” She grabs something that looks like flat bread, but covered in a blood-red sauce, some kind of green leafy vegetable spread across it in an ornate wreath, and circles of what she thinks might be melted cheese - she’s only had it on her mother’s birthdays, it was one of her favorite rare indulgences. “Try this, it at least has hints of what you’ve eaten at home, I’d wager.” 

        Voltaea finally pulls herself from her lying position - still feeling ever-so-slightly heavy from the wine she drank - and grabs the plate. Alara’s fingertips gently graze hers when she does and she nearly bolts from the contact - Stop thinking about earlier, please stop thinking about earlier. She tries to center on the food in front of her. It smells… good? It has that note of freshly baked bread with a layer of earthiness and tang from whatever is on top of it. 

        Alara grabs her own plate - it’s some kind of meat, sliced thicker than anything Voltaea could dream of affording back home. It's seared on both sides leaving the middle an angry red. There’s an assortment of vegetables on the plate - potato, she knows, and carrots. It's the green, rounded things that almost look like tiny cabbages she can’t place. Her mentor slides onto the couch-bed at the opposite side, unwrapping her silverware and setting it up in what seems like a well-practiced order. Voltaea mimics this, placing hers the same way. 

        Alara picks up her knife and the larger fork, and begins slicing the meat into manageable chunks. Voltaea attempts to do the same with her flatbread - though she’s never really had much in the way of knife skills so it’s mostly becoming a mangled mess on her plate. The nerve damage in her left hand doesn’t make the task any easier - it’s been clumsy since the accident and she can’t quite steady the bread with the fork she holds in it. The mocking-toned cackle from her mentor pulls her focus away from her failure. 

        Voltaea gives Alara her best attempt at a glare - she just laughs harder. “Gods, has nobody let you near a knife before?” No, clearly not. She can’t bring herself to answer - she can feel the heat of shame rising into her cheeks again. Alara puts her own utensils down and reaches for Voltaea’s. “Please, darling, just let me take over before you end up eating mashed margherita instead of a proper slice.” 

        Whatever numbness had been holding Voltaea steady snaps at her mentor’s mocking tone - the buzz in her ears reaches a fever pitch  - and she slaps her hand away. “Don’t treat me like I’m stupid!” She stabs her fork into the mess of food on her plate and shoves a too-large bite in her mouth as if it makes her point somehow, then lets her utensils clatter back onto the plate. She barely even registers the taste of her food - just sits there angrily chewing and avoiding eye contact until Alara grabs her wrist. 

        Voltaea whips her head to look at her. Alara’s voice sharpens like a blade - cutting and deep. “Are you going to sit there being a petulant child or are you here to learn something? Do you want to be the laughing stock of the entire Capitol?” She digs her nails painfully into Voltaea’s wrist as she speaks. “Are you going to walk into the arena incapable of something so basic as holding a fucking knife properly?” She feels the bassline beat of her heart - THUMP-THUMP-THUMP - holding her frozen in place. Alara’s eyes widen as she raises her voice even louder. “You think I’m simply doing this to mock you? Maybe I should be treating you like you’re stupid, if you can’t put together why you might need to - “ 

        The buzzing static has drowned out all other sound in the room - she can see Alara’s lips moving - feel her claws digging so deep into her wrist she can feel her pulse against them - but she isn’t taking it in anymore. The overhead lights are suddenly too loud - Alara’s face too bright - she slams her eyes shut. Calm. Calm. Calm. Her usual method does nothing, she can’t get past the calm part. She digs her own nails into her scarred palm to try and counter the rising drone of noise. 

        She feels the pain and heat recede from her wrist but stays frozen. It’s not until Alara yells her name - a silken slice through the static - that she opens her eyes and remembers where she is again. The look on her mentor’s face has softened - her cheeks are flushed and she's sweating everywhere  - eyes darting all over like she’s analyzing subtle moment Voltaea makes. Alara reaches over her and gently pulls her nails from her scar again. 

        “I have to break my own rules, and apologize, darling.” Her voice is softer than before, slightly choked, still the most beautiful song she's ever heard. “I'm not medicated enough to be having these sorts of conversations.” Medicated? 

        Voltaea examines Alara’s face for any sign of insincerity but finds none she can identify. She almost looks afraid - wide-eyed and trembling slightly in her lower lip. She watches her mentor grab for the box she pulled the cigarette from again and produce a glass vial with some kind of powder in it - it almost looks like bleached flour. 

        Voltaea still can't convince her mouth to form coherent speech, so she just stares as Alara pulls out a strange, reflective metal tray and an engraved straw that seems impractical to use for drinking. She pours a pile of the powder onto the tray and uses the back of her clawed fingertip to form it into a neat row. 

        She finally coaxes herself to speak. “What is that?” Her voice is stiff and hoarse from the tension still dissipating from her throat. 

        Alara thinks for a moment, then croons “If what I gave you is clarity , then this is power . Lightning in a vial.” She shifts some of the food around on the table to accommodate her tray. Once it's settled, she takes the straw, sticks one end in her nose, and plugs the other nostril to sniff-snort the substance in one swoop. 

        Alara removes the straw and flips her head backwards - pinching her nose each way and sniff, sniffing through both nostrils. Eugh . That looks awful. Her mentor's entire nose is blood-red, her pupils inflate so wide you can barely see the green in her eyes. Voltaea sees the tremor in her hand seems to pick up speed with every quickening breath she takes. Huh. 

        Alara laughs - it's wilder than she's heard before - the pitch oscillates like she can't tell which tone she wants to hit. “There it is! Ha!” She starts tapping her nails against her robe, looking around the room with wild eyes. When they land back on Voltaea, she smiles - like the huge, toothy, feral one she’d given her in the Justice building. “You really do need to eat something before we get to the Capitol, darling, let me help.” 

        Voltaea doesn’t protest this time when Alara takes her silverware and cuts the half-forgotten flatbread on her plate into manageable, neat bites. The buzzing in her brain is still a dull roar. Her mentor spears a piece with the fork and holds it up to her mouth. “Here, try it properly now.” 

        Voltaea leans forward and takes the bite - she can taste it through the static now - Oh, wow. This IS good. Alara is staring at her, expectantly, still unable to peel the smile off of her face. She gives her a nod as she chews and her mentor claps her hands together triumphantly. “Perfect! Try more, try all of it! You’ll need to bulk up a bit before your games - you’re no use if you starve to death - and we’re going to be there in… gods, it must be soon now?” she glances at a clock on the far wall. “Oh, well, not that soon, but a few hours left - we should be rolling in around 2am. The boy will be asleep already, if Orville’s doing his JOB that is. You - Voltaea - darling, I think you’d better not take the risk - I want you sharp for the cameras the second we step off.” Alara’s words come so quickly that Voltaea has to strain to take it all in. 

        “I thought the parade wasn’t until tomorrow night, why do we have to be there so early?” Voltaea speaks through another bite of food. 

        “District Five is quite near the Capitol, darling, we’ll be one of the first groups to roll in. Not to worry - we’ll have a few hours to rest before the styling teams arrive - BUT! Until then - let’s take these last hours of peace together to plan our grand entrance and share a meal, shall we?” Alara reaches a hand out and brushes a lock of Voltaea’s loosening hair behind her ear. “I’ll fix your hair… and perhaps find you something with pants to wear for our first public appearance.” Voltaea feels her face burn again - suddenly aware of how disheveled the robe she’s wearing is and pulling it tightly across her chest. Alara doesn’t shift, just keeps speaking at the racing tempo that the powder seems to give her. “There’s always some rats scuttling around the station even in the early hours trying to get a good look at you - and darling I want them all to see what I do.” 

        Don’t ask, you’ll look desperate. You have to show her you’re strong. You don’t need her compliments. Calm. Voltaea shoves another bite in her mouth to avoid the question she wants to ask but it slips out anyways. “What do you see?” 

        Alara stands up, shifting herself in front of Voltaea’s seated position. She reaches down - using her softer-tipped hand - and tilts her upward to meet her gaze. Voltaea feels her heart fire off in her chest like a Peacekeeper’s rifle - burning all over again at the lightest touch. Useless! She chides herself. Alara leans down - their faces are inches away and Voltaea feels that same overwhelming urge she felt before well up in her throat. Her mentor smirks, then closes on Voltaea’s ear - inches away so she can hear every rapid-fire breath she takes. 

        Every whispered word from Alara’s lips wraps itself around Voltaea’s remaining composure and strangles it. “ Perfection. ”

Chapter Text

Strategy: Alara

        Alara Vox hadn’t meant to be quite so harsh on her girl. Something about the way she held that knife like a scared child instead of the fighter she knew she could be - it set her teeth on edge. Or maybe it was just all the fucking questions - too smart for her own good. Alara hadn’t wanted to tell her everything this quickly - or perhaps ever. That slack-jawed glazed-eyed look Voltaea had given her, the clumsy attempt at cutting her pizza, her inability to string three words together - I haven’t had a dose in hours. No, it was Voltaea who brought it on herself - she had raised her voice first. She needed a little harshness to drive home that such things were not to be tolerated. 

        She realized she had gone too far when the poor thing started clawing at herself again - she’d slammed her eyes shut like that would somehow stop the noise. When she’d realized the state of her girl - she felt it in her gut - something churning, cloying, crippling that made her slow her tirade and release Voltaea’s wrist. You’re doing this to help her survive - this guilt is unbecoming. She ignores herself. Speaks to her victor instead. “Voltaea!” Her voice is loud, but she’s tempered the earlier harshness. Only for you, darling. 

        Her girl opens her eyes to look at her - but she can see the distance behind them. The poor thing is stiff as a board and half-falling out of the already too short robe - a magnificent sort of mess - but one she knows she’ll have to clean up before the cameras start rolling. Not that I wouldn’t mind keeping you like this, but we have a game to win. 

        She readies herself to be the bigger person - her future victor has clearly learned her lesson judging by the dissociated dread on her face. Alara opts to break one of her own cardinal rules - and apologizes, as earnestly as she can - tells her girl she’s under-medicated. Voltaea looks… unreadable. Alara doesn’t know how to approach unreadable . She feels her own pulse racing - her tremor rising. Don’t you dare fuck this up - I can’t lose again - I need to think!

        She sees the box of drugs at the end of her table and grabs it without a word. I don’t just need to think, I need to win. She pulls out a vial with her shorter-acting stimulants. It’s too easy to overdo it with the longer ones, and she can’t afford to break in front of her. She just needs to take the edge off - shepherd her thoughts into order. She pulls out her tray and cuts herself a thick line of the stuff. 

        “What is that?” Voltaea’s voice pulls her out of her haze for a moment. You’ve been so quiet that I thought I’d lost you, darling. She has to consider what to say for a moment - It wouldn’t do to scare her off of how useful stims can be to minds as sharp as theirs are. 

        “If what I gave you is clarity , then this is power . Lightning in a vial.” The wide-eyed look of naive curiosity on her girl when she speaks - the small flush she gets in her cheeks - the half-off robe dripping off of her shoulders - it drives her wild. She forces her mind back to the task at hand.  

        Alara arranges her tray carefully among the plates on the table, and snorts the entirety of the contents in one go. The response is almost instantaneous - it’s like every nerve in her body springs to life - every train of thought converges into one - every color is brighter, every feeling stronger - she savours the chemical taste and copper tang from burst capillaries that runs down the back of her throat.  

        She laughs - she can’t help it - it’s too much of a fucking relief from her earlier state. The room is chaos - food everywhere - clothes thrown in the corner - and Voltaea, still half-dressed but now looking almost concerned for her. Oh, you poor girl, you haven’t eaten a thing! 

        Alara tells her girl she needs to eat before they arrive - and she does - she has that slightly-starved gauntness that she recognizes from her own reflection long ago. She’s already slicing the remains of her dinner before the girl has a chance to protest - she pops a bite on the end of the fork and holds it up for Voltaea to eat. “Here, try it properly now.” 

        Voltaea’s face lights up like the Capitol skyline on parade night as soon as she tastes the food. Get used to it darling, there’ll be so much more where this came from after we win. Parade night! She’d nearly forgotten - what time is it anyways ? She’s rambling, she can tell, her mouth is moving as fast as her mind - Voltaea nodding along like she’s hanging on every word. Her girl asks one of those incredibly naive questions she likes to pose to Alara - it sends her off on another train of thought. 

        Voltaea looks positively disheveled - she clasps her robe back shut across her chest with a look of embarrassment when Alara mentions the state of her - but her hair has come almost entirely out of the bun she keeps it in, she’s drenched in sweat, and her eyes are still puffy from her emotional outbursts. You’ve never been more beautiful to me, darling, but the public won’t see it the same way. She tells her girl she wants them all to see her the way she does. 

        “What do you see?” Hm? Voltaea hasn’t spoken up in a while - or maybe she has - Alara’s never been a great listener by her own admission. She smiles - stands up - this is one of those questions that requires an impactful answer. Theatrical, even.

        Voltaea is doing everything she can to avoid eye contact as Alara shifts in front of her - she keeps her gaze firmly centered on the coffee table. Come now, we’re past all that, aren’t we?  She gently tips her face upward with her filed-down fingertips - she can feel the heat rush back into her girl’s cheeks at the contact. Good, I haven’t ruined you then. 

        She leans down and watches her girl’s lips part almost expectantly - Delightful. She brushes past her to lean into Voltaea’s ear - she can practically taste the thundering pulse in her girl’s throat - and lets the most salacious whisper fall from her lips. You want to know what I see? “Perfection.” 

        That tiny, shattered gasp her girl lets out in response tells Alara everything. She lingers there, breathing just firmly enough that she can see the shudder running down Voltaea’s spine each time she does it. Her girl tilts her head to look at her after a few moments, waiting, calculating - Her lips still softly parted, trembling - Her eyes scan every inch of Alara’s face, like she hopes to find a similar expression waiting for her there - Alara pulls back - You’re going to have to want it enough to take it, darling. 

        Alara snaps her fingers, her girl blinks away the strained desire in her eyes to focus on the sound. “Now, the train’s wardrobe team should have at least something acceptable to wear in your size - not in your car, mind you, I’ve already checked - they’ll have it hidden around in storage somewhere - I’ll ring Orville, he has a… marginally better eye for that sort of thing than the useless twits who tried to dress me earlier.” 

        Voltaea digs her nails into her scar again - before Alara can stop it, then releases just as quickly. She nods. “Alright. What else should I know?” 

        “Hang on, darling, I’ll make the call first.” She glides to the intercom - pressing a few extra buttons to dial directly to the one in Orville’s own sleeper car. “Orville! If you’re asleep it’s time to stop slacking - I need a full outfit for Voltaea - something with flair - and pants! No dresses, no frills, and under no circumstances bring me anything with pink in it!” 

        The room falls silent for a moment before the intercom buzzes to life again. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes sharp, ma’ - Alara. I have ideas, but they’ll have to be pulled from storage.” 

        Alara, satisfied with the timeline, spins around to speak to her girl again. She claps her hands together to gather Voltaea’s attention, and points to the food on the table once more. Her next words are a command, not a question. “Now darling, you’re going to eat - and you’re going to listen. I’ll teach you everything I know about playing to the cameras. If you want sponsors - and trust me, you will need them - I have to make you into something marketable.” 

        Voltaea nods, takes a deep breath, and manages to speak in her still-flustered state. “I… can I take notes?” 

        “Of course! Here - I must have something to write with -” Alara nearly sprints to the desk at the far corner of the room - the stims have her riding a razor's edge - and pulls the top drawer open to produce a pad of stationery and a customized pen. It’s one of her favorites - blood–red ink - she keeps them for autographs. The Capitol fangirls she’s acquired over the years go absolutely wild for them. She tosses the both of them to Voltaea, who manages to catch the pad of paper but drops the pen. “You’ll have to be quicker than that, my sweet!” She keeps her voice light, teasing, even tosses her a wink at the end. Voltaea turns scarlet again. I do love to see that. 

        Alara stays standing this time - Wouldn’t want to distract you again. Voltaea has armed herself with the pen and stationery - her brows are furrowed like she’s in deep thought. Gods - you have no right to look so adorable in my presence. She strings herself back into focus. Admire her later - it’s time to play the mentor. “Your first big lesson was to never apologize. Keep that close - it’s the best thing you can do for your image.”

        “What’s my image, exactly?” She watches her girl scrawl the word image across the page as she speaks. 

          “Voltaea, my sweet, your second lesson is not to rush me. I thrive on theatrics! Perhaps make a note to embrace that too - drama sells sponsorships.”  Alara’s voice is sharp, tactical - Voltaea seems to respond with renewed focus, furiously scribbling notes onto the stationery. “Now, the Capitol always likes tributes that are neat - easy to categorize - but it LOVES when you break the mold just enough to spice things up.” 

        Alara glides over to the television - flipping it on and plugging in a few cords to the side. Voltaea makes a noise like she’s about to speak again and Alara holds up a single, clawed finger to silence her. “Be patient, you’ll see what I’m talking about.” She grabs a remote from the top of the set. “I have Orville record every district’s Reaping Ceremony - We’ll start with yours, that’ll be about all we have time for before Orville shows up with your wardrobe.” 

        She hits play - skipping from scene to scene until the familiar, choking smog of District Five is visible overhead in the background - Orville in his hideous powder-blue suit standing on the stage. She glances at Voltaea - she’s balanced the pad of paper on her knees so she can dig her nails into her scar again and still write with her stronger hand. Her eyes stay locked - focused on the screen. Good girl, you just make sure you see all of this. 

        Alara lets the segment play in full - Orville’s embarrassing attempt at Voltaea’s name, her steely-eyed walk to the stage, her sister sobbing in the audience while she stares straight ahead - unflinching, unwavering. She barely spares a second glance at Coulomb when he’s called up - she’s like a statue made flesh. Not a single hair out of place, not a tremor, barely even a blink. She pauses the video on a close-up of Voltaea’s face. 

        “There. That’s what I want to capture - you’re going to play the stoic, stone-faced survivor - we’ll highlight your scar, your fall, your absent family - ” Voltaea flinches at the mention of her family, but keeps scribbling - flipping to a new page as she fills the first. “You’ll play up that you’ve hardened yourself through it all - you’ve suffered more than most your age and nothing has fazed you. The games are just another challenge that you’ll overcome - another victory in your belt. Never entertain the idea that you might fail - they’ll eat it up.” 

        “Alright, but isn’t that just putting me into a box? Where’s the angle? You said we needed one for them to really take to me.” Voltaea’s voice has taken on the same tone from earlier - the cold, calculating tone she uses when her brilliance is in full swing. I do love that you catch on so quickly. 

        “Oh that's easy, darling. Unpredictability. They’ll expect you to always keep a clear head - don’t. Find your moment and do something truly unexpected.” Alara smirks, an itch of excitement crawls up her spine and she can’t tell if it’s the stims or the stimulating conversation. “I spit in an interviewer’s face after an entire day of being a perfect, smiling specimen of complacency when I first arrived in the Capitol - it made the highlight reels for a full three nights - practically an eternity during Hunger Games season. You can do better, I’m sure. I didn’t have half the mentor you do, you know, and -” 

        They’re interrupted by Orville’s knocking and his muffled voice at the door. “Pardon the interruption, but I’ve brought the clothes you’ve requested.” 

        Alara swears under her breath and stalks to the door and opens it. The boy looks positively exhausted - he’s wearing a pair of powder-blue velvet pajama pants and a matching top like he just rolled out of bed. “Orville you’re an absolute mess, I hope you’ve brought us something less awful to look at.” 

        He wisely chooses to ignore her barb and wheels a rack of clothes into the room - turning his attention to the wall behind Voltaea so as not to look either of them in the eyes while he presents his findings. “There’s a few looks I found that might fit the bill -” 

        He goes through the rack while Alara rejects nearly every option - hideous, fashion crime, too revealing, not revealing enough, that one looks almost pink - until he pulls out a sleek, black, vinyl bodysuit with silver clasps that look like daggers and chrome-colored geometric patterns accenting the whole piece. “That’s the one!” Alara claps her hands excitedly “Voltaea, darling, you’ll have them terrified AND tantalized before we even meet a stylist.” 

        “I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t point out that a well-crafted ensemble like this is bound to attract the attention of her competitors as well as the cameras. Most of the outer districts don’t even bother to change their tributes out of their Reaping clothes.” Orville shifts like he’s stepped in shit and is trying to wipe it off his shoes before anyone notices the smell. Alara rolls her eyes - All nerves, that one. 

        “That’s half the point - let them all see how lethal she looks and maybe we’ll have an alliance offer or two. Or, we’ll find an easy rivalry to sell to the sponsors - either way, it’s a win for our image.” Alara glances at Voltaea and gives her another wink - she averts her eyes back to her notes before the blush can fully creep into her cheeks. This might be my new favorite trick. 

        “Of course. I shouldn’t have questioned.” Orville gives a small, performative bow to the room. “If there’s nothing else then…” 

        Alara motions him off without another word. Voltaea gives him a quick wave as he exits the room, shutting the door behind him. “Alright darling, you get dressed - I’ll find myself something in the closet.” She spins on her heels and heads for the closet door - it’s not a full walk-in as she had requested, but they’ve at least made use of the space with some creative, rotating clothing racks. 

         She spins through several sections that disinterest her immediately - another blazer so soon would be tacky - a full gown too formal - perhaps a cocktail dress? She’s flipping through a selection of crimson-colored ones when she hears Voltaea’s panicked voice behind her “Um. Alara… I have no idea how to put this on - I think I’m stuck - can you help?” 

        Alara looks around to find her girl in a very compromised position . She’s shed the robe and attempted to work her way into the bodysuit, but the entire thing is backwards - clasps undone everywhere - the main zipper on what is supposed to be the back is hitched to the center of her bra. She can’t even imagine how Voltaea managed such a feat - It’s honestly an impressive level of failure, darling, and you look great doing it . 

        Her girl looks absolutely mortified - she covers her face when she sees Alara looking at her. “Oh come now, there’s no need for such melodrama - It’s nothing I haven’t seen before” Voltaea buries herself deeper in her hands as if Alara can’t see straight through her. She gives her girl a teasing giggle - “Though whatever it is you’ve done to entangle yourself in this outfit is entirely new to me darling.” 

        Alara closes the gap between them, resting a hand on Voltaea’s shoulder. “You’re going to have to undress again, you’ve got it completely backwards - here -” She squats down to start undoing some of the clasps on the legs that Voltaea had already attempted to fasten “You take the top, I’ll start from the legs.” her girl doesn’t move. “Voltaea, my sweet, you have to uncover your face and do some of the work or I can’t help you -” 

        Voltaea relaxes, slightly, at the sound of her name. She finally lowers her hands and attempts to untangle the zipper from her bra. Alara continues her work on the clasps - she takes her time, trailing her fingers between each one as she works her way up. She can hear her future victor’s breath run ragged as she works - her efforts are clearly having the intended effect. 

        She undoes the last clasp and stands up fully - Voltaea is still struggling with the zipper. “Just let go, darling, I’ll fix you up.” Alara reaches up and deftly unhooks it from her bra with one hand “Alright, now unzip and step out, we’ll get this turned around for you.” 

        Voltaea’s hands are shaking nearly as much as Alara’s now - she flinches at her words. “I think. Um.” She pauses, considering. “Can you step back? I can’t think with you this close…” Really? You don’t say. 

        Alara bites back the triumphant smirk forming on her lips - drops her voice to a calculated purr - tries to look as clueless as she can muster as she continues fiddling with her girl’s outfit. “Oh? Why’s that?” 

        Voltaea’s turned that lovely shade of scarlet again - she shuts her eyes - starts to dig her nails into her scar. Alara grabs her wrist before she can get too far. “Voltaea, if you can’t answer simple questions from me, how will you ever handle a real interview? Consider this part of your training.” 

        “I’m really not used to this… exposure.” Voltaea opens her eyes to meet Alara’s. Her voice drops to a shaky whisper. “I don’t understand what I’m feeling - any of it - I just know that when you’re too close I can’t think. Can we leave it there?” 

        Alara places a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll give you a reprieve - for now.” She releases her and steps back a few feet so her girl has room to strip the rest of the outfit away without the proximity. It takes her a few minutes - The poor thing is still a flushed, shivering mess - but she manages to undo the rest of the getup and strip down to her undergarments without further interference. 

        Alara takes a tentative step back in her direction, her voice tinged with sarcasm - “May I assist now, or are you still unable to think in my presence?” Her girl nods - she doesn’t have much choice if she wants to have anything to wear. The bodysuit is tangled in a heap in the ground in front of her. Alara takes a moment to admire the view. She’d seen Voltaea from the back earlier, but now she can see nearly all of her and she's glorious. 

         She immediately notices her girl's tight core muscles - probably from all those years of climbing towers . Nothing like the bulky, well-fed careers have - Voltaea is still rather thin - but she manages to look both lithe and lethal in equal measure. Her girl has exactly the right amount of curve to her- though Alara notes she would have a solid cup size on her girl if she believed in wearing bras. She's mildly disappointed to see Voltaea doesn't share that proclivity. Alara has to bite back a scowl when she notices the tacky little handmade necklace that Voltaea still wears around her neck. I'll deal with that little attachment later.

        Alara dips down to grab the outfit, guiding Voltaea’s legs into the bottom of it one at a time. She does each clasp as she works her way up. “Here, you pull up the front and slip your arms into the sleeves - I’ll go behind and zip.” 

        “It’s sticking everywhere…” Voltaea struggles to pull the sleeves on. 

        “That’s because you’re sweating, darling, calm your breathing - “ Alara trails behind Voltaea, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of her robe and handing it to her as she goes. “ - Use this to wipe yourself down, then pull it on, it’ll stick less.” She does as she’s told and the outfit is a bit more compliant with her wrangling - she’s managed to pull the sleeves on fully now. 

        Alara pulls the zipper up Voltaea’s back, leaning in close to her ear as she reaches the top. “ Good girl .” Voltaea lets out a small gasp and Alara takes a few steps back. “Now, turn around so I can get a good look at you.” 

        Voltaea’s hair is still an unmitigated disaster - but the outfit - Gods! I may actually have to give Orville some credit tomorrow  - it's perfect. Black, she notes for later, is very much her girl’s color - the chrome accents and dagger-clasps shimmer every time she shifts and draws the eye to every subtle curve she has. 

        Alara pulls her gently, positioning her in front of the floor-length mirror on the closet door. “Look, aren’t you marvelous?” Voltaea examines herself - shifting from side to side to see how the light catches off of the outfit. She frowns when she looks up at her hair. 

        “Do you have a brush, or a comb, even? I have to fix this.” Alara nods and wanders to the bathroom to find her one - returning a moment later with a red-handled rounded hairbrush.   

        “Do you want me to - “ Voltaea cuts Alara off before she can finish asking. 

        “No. I have a system.” Alara shrugs and hands her girl the brush. 

        “Far be it from me to argue with greatness.” She lingers behind Voltaea and watches as she gathers the mess of her hair into tightly wound control again. She’s rough with it - like when she digs at her scar - pulling at the sides of her face until she has a perfectly slicked bun atop her head once more. 

        Voltaea looks at herself in the mirror, nods, then hands Alara the brush over her shoulder. “Better. What now?” She seems to have relaxed some - she’s certainly not shaking anymore - and she’s taken on a tone of intensity in her voice that Alara can’t help but admire. 

        “We study your opponents of course - why do you think I had Orville tape every Reaping?” Alara glides over to the daybed, sitting in the corner and motioning for Voltaea to join her. She plucks a bowl of grapes from among the plates of uneaten dinner as Voltaea joins her - her walk is a bit stiff from the outfit but she manages. Alara is pleasantly surprised when her girl chooses a seat mere inches from her rather than on the opposite side. “We’ll start with District One and work our way through the rest.” 

        Alara rolls the tape - Voltaea grabs her notepad - and the two settle in for a long run of Reapings. They start to settle into comfortable banter midway through District One when the boy takes the stage and flips his hair around like he’s posing for a magazine shoot. Voltaea calls him a useless peacock - Alara gives her permission to kill him first - both fall into each other laughing. 

        They stay entwined through the footage from the next few Districts - skipping Five. They only shift apart enough so they both can grab a bite here or there - or so Voltaea can scribble something on her notepad. Her girl certainly has a lot of opinions - not all she agrees with - particularly her assessment of the tributes from Seven. She lets it slide for now without too much debate. 

        When they come around to District Eight - Alara tenses. These are the ones we have to kill - you can let the others fight amongst themselves, but you have to end these two. The footage would be the edited version - whatever Snow ended up airing rather than the full riot he described - but she still isn’t sure how to approach the topic with Voltaea. 

        The tape rolls - you can see District Eight’s escort take the stage. Alara leans in conspiratorially to whisper in her girl’s ear “I have a longstanding rivalry with one of the mentors from Eight -”

        Voltaea drops her voice to match Alara’s. “The one you host your show with, right? Ismene?” She starts a fresh page of her notes with the name at the top. “She cries more than Coulomb - I don’t really understand why you call her a rival.” 

        Alara laughs - “Yes, yes she does. She also has a particular gift for pulling sponsors with those crocodile tears of hers - and a real eye for unconventional talents.” The escort on the screen is wrapping up her prepared speech while Alara continues. “A few years ago she even managed to scrape together a victor - Cecilia something-or-other. She hasn’t stopped gloating about that one.” She can’t hide the disappointment in her voice - Cecilia had been a complete upset, and Ismene had said some particularly nasty things to Alara in the wake of her win.

        The escort on the tape pulls the first name - Weaver Choudhary - and they both quiet down and pull their eyes to the television. Did they call the boy first? It’s the first thing Alara can think of when Weaver takes the stage with her short-cropped hair and permanent scowl. She can’t be more than fourteen or fifteen, but Alara didn’t see where in the crowd she came from.  The escort goes to say something - but the tape cuts oddly, some filler footage of the crowd talking among themselves is spliced in. 

        The footage cuts back to the stage where the escort pulls the other name in short order - Satin Choudhary. She can see the boy walk up to the stage - a few inches taller than his sister, but less well-built. They look almost identical apart from that - down to the haircut. He’s shaking like a leaf in the wind, tears welling up at the corner of his eyes. Weaver, still scowling, walks over to him and pulls him into a hug - the footage cuts back to the same loop of the crowd talking amongst themselves as before, shot from a slightly different angle. 

        Voltaea leans forward when she notices the change - “Alara - look. I think they’ve cut the crowd's reaction. This looks almost exactly like what they showed before.” 

        You really are too smart for your own good sometimes - alright then - a new approach. Alara’s voice is tentative - she wants to lead her girl to the right conclusions, not give them to her. “You may be right… but if you are, can you think of why that might be the case?” 

        The tape ends with the District Eight logo flashing on screen - they don’t show any further footage of the stage. Voltaea closes her eyes - runs her nails gently down her scar, just enough to prick the wounds she opens there. After a minute or so of waiting, Alara stands, making her way to the closet again. “I’m going to get dressed while you think about it, darling.” 

        She’s halfway squeezed herself into a scarlet, one-shouldered cocktail dress made entirely of glittering metallic scales when Voltaea speaks again. “They cut the footage because there’s something they don’t want people to see.” 

        Alara stays with her back turned to Voltaea so she can’t see the triumphant grin on her face. You get it, then, darling. She keeps her voice measured. “And if we follow that logic, how does this affect our strategy?” 

        “Well… I have to think through it. If I’m right about the footage, that means they’ve marked themselves for death already - someone important has noticed them.” Voltaea’s voice has taken on a colder edge - like it had earlier when she was animatedly describing some of her favorite trap designs. I like this side of you, my little spark. Alara turns around to look at her - Voltaea is staring right back, a small smirk forming at the corner of her lips. 

        “I trust you have the sense to know that would make them poor allies.” Alara knows full well Voltaea is past that point from the devious look she’s getting - but she wants to hear her say it. 

        “Yes, but -” Her girl pauses - writes something in her notes. “They seem like great early targets, don’t they?”

Chapter Text

Puzzles: Voltaea

         Voltaea Amprole never feels more alive than when she has a puzzle to solve, and Alara has more than delivered with this strategy session. Focusing drowns out the unbearable noise of the world around her. This year’s slate of tributes is stronger than she’d hoped so far - but Alara doesn’t seem deterred. Voltaea tries not to be either. She even makes a joke about the boy from District One that her mentor gives her a real laugh for - it makes her chest feel tight. 

         Both of the career picks from Two are enormous - Cassia Brigg and Tiber Spade - she notes them for later. Need to keep my distance, won’t win in a straight fight. Try using their strength against them - or use them against each other. There’s a few names she marks as potential allies in the mix - the tributes from Three are usually smart, which appeals - though their boy this year is barely thirteen and frankly doesn’t stand a chance. The girl though - Ixia Byte - she could be useful. Ixia - Possible ally, discuss with Alara after training observations. Kito - too young to win, check for relevant skills - could be a risk if I ally with his District partner. 

         Alara warns her not to get too attached. Voltaea just smiles. I won’t. She gets distracted when they switch to the District Four tape - Alara goes on a bit of a tangent about mentor politics and her dislike of Mags Flannagan. She writes this down too. Ignore Four - Alara disapproves. Watch both in training for weaknesses. 

         The tributes from Six are wholly unremarkable - the girl, Raila, looks like she’s about to vomit when she walks up on the stage. Then, to the horror of Six’s escort, she DOES vomit while they’re calling the next name. The boy, Elian, is far too thin for his height - long blonde hair and a sad, distant smile on his face. Alara rolls her eyes. “He won’t last, too weak, but the boy will definitely pull a few sponsors with that look.” She jots down a few notes. Raila - likely ill, safe to ignore. Elian - might pull sponsors or inspire sympathy in competitors, mark for death. 

         Voltaea ignores the buzzing, metallic static that rises in her ears and churns her stomach every time she commits to a kill. This is what you’re training for, this is what your notes were for - They’ll be dead if you kill them or not. Twenty-Four enter, only one can leave. She reminds herself of her promise to Ohma… and of Alara’s unwavering faith in her. It helps, some. 

         She recenters herself on the faint whir the television makes when a recording starts to play - they’re up to Seven now. She barely realizes Alara is still wrapped around her until she shifts slightly and Voltaea has to lean back in to find the warmth of her body again. Don’t feel weird about it. Don’t BE weird about it. You’re comfortable - that’s what she says is important. 

         Frankly, the tributes from Seven have impressed her the most so far out of the non-careers. The girl, Sarah Thistlewood, is seventeen and built like a tree in autumn - her hair is a more natural-looking red than Alara’s, and cascades down her back in waves. Her arms look like she’s been swinging an axe around since birth. She seems to be around Voltaea’s height, but twice the width - all muscle. She flips off the escort and whoops when she takes the stage - to resounding cheers from the crowd. “I like her - she's fiery.” Voltaea feels her chest tighten slightly when the girl on stage howls like a wolf to another round of audience cheers. “And huge - it might be better to team up than fight.” 

         “She looks arrogant, darling , and she has no idea how to tame those curls. I’d be careful.” Alara’s voice has a slight tone of disdain. Voltaea notes both opinions under Sarah’s name on her list. The boy, Bashir Cedar, is called next. He’s a few years younger, and walks the whole way to the stage with his arms crossed and his head down - scowling at anyone who looks at him. Sarah offers him a handshake when he gets on stage and he manages to almost smile - returning it to a howl of approval from the larger girl. Sarah could be a strong potential ally - though District unity will end up as a contention point. Assess Bashir later to determine suitability. 

         When they get to District Eight’s recording, Alara mentions her rivalry with one of their mentors - Ismene Lux. Voltaea feels the tremor rise in the hand Alara has draped over her shoulder while she speaks about Ismene’s recent victor. I’ll be in the arena. I could make sure that doesn’t happen again… 

         The thought startles her - she hasn’t even seen the tributes yet. Something about the way Alara’s words seem tinged with ache and regret when she speaks about her cohost just makes her… tense. Angry, even. What gives Ismene the right to act like she’s so perfect? She barely got a mention in my notes - useless. 

         She tries to center herself by refocusing on the wub-wub-wub-wub of the train below them.  Calm. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply through her nose. Collected. She exhales, and reaches up to squeeze the shaking hand draped over her shoulder before returning to her notes. Controlled? 

         Voltaea watches with rapt attention when the first name is called and the crowd of fourteen-year-olds part to let Weaver Choudhary through. She’s short, with tan skin and dark hair. She’s also scowling the whole way onto the stage, and looks like she’s ready to kill the escort who read her name. When the escort goes to speak - the recording stutters - there’s a faint whine, brief, but noticeable. The camera cuts back to the crowd, whispering among each other while the wind blows over the microphones with a whoosh every few moments making their words indiscernible . That’s strange, the other videos don’t change perspective like this. 

         The static starts to clear in her ears as she narrows her sights on the next tribute. It takes her a moment to register that Satin has the same last name as the girl who was just called - and comes from the same age section. Twins? Her mind turns to Ohma - what she’d feel like if her sister’s name were called - she has to drown the thought before it overtakes her. If I want to see her again, they have to die. Her stomach churns - she tenses - tries to chase the gut-wrenching feeling away with reason. Maybe it’s kinder if they die together - then neither has to live without the other.

         The video cuts back to the crowd from just after the boy mounts the stage - with a similar, brief whine . Huh? She leans forward in her seat when she hears the same whoosh of the wind as before. In fact, when she looks at the crowd itself it seems like this is the exact same footage as before - she recognizes some of the faces, their positions in the crowd. This is the same thing they showed before - the angle’s a little off but I’m sure of it. She listens for another whoosh of the wind that she knows is coming - and confirms her suspicions when she hears it. 

         She brings it up to Alara immediately. Her mentor cocks her head to the side, pausing before she responds. She’s thinking about something, what is it? Her voice sounds soft, sweet - but measured - not song-like this time. “You may be right… but if you are, can you think of why that might be the case?” 

         No. But I’ll come up with something. She doesn't bother to say it aloud. Voltaea slams her eyes shut to block out any noise from the lights. Focus . She digs her nails into her palm again, lightly, just enough pain to focus - to dull the static so she can think clearly. Think back to the tapes from the library - what I know about the Capitol - what I know about the games. Alara says something but she doesn't quite catch it - though she almost loses her edge when she feels her mentor stand up and the warmth of her body leaves her. Focus.

         There’s only one reason she can think of that they might cut the footage of the Reaping before it airs - if there’s something on the tape the Capitol doesn’t want people to see. Markus had told her once, in hushed tones, about a fight that broke out during a Reaping when he was a kid - they’d had to redo the whole thing because the fight got so close to the stage that they couldn’t cut around it. She wasn’t entirely sure she believed him - there was no record of the fight anywhere she could find, and no one else she talked to was old enough to be around back then. She certainly believed him now. 

         She opens her eyes - ready to tell Alara her theory - when she realizes her mentor has stripped to redress herself. Alara stands with her back to Voltaea wearing nothing but red, lace underwear that reveal far more than her own solid-black briefs do. She feels the bass-tone of her heart thump-thump-thump into her throat again as she watches Alara pull a dress from the closet. 

         I should say something. She doesn’t speak yet. I shouldn’t be staring. She keeps watching. I don’t know what I’m doing. She does - but she drowns it so she won’t have to think about it. A familiar heat rises in her core. Shit. She takes in every perfect, exposed inch of the woman in front of her as she steps into the dress and starts to pull it up. Focus!

         “They cut the footage because there’s something they don’t want people to see.” Voltaea forces herself to speak - an attempt to break her stupid, uncooperative body out of its stupor. 

         “And if we follow that logic, how does this affect our strategy?” Alara keeps her voice measured - Voltaea can tell there’s a correct answer here, she just has to find it. She’s testing me. 

         “Well… I have to think through it. If I’m right about the footage, that means they’ve marked themselves for death already - someone important has noticed them.” If I’m the one to kill them, Ismene won’t be able to hurt Alara anymore. She’ll have the advantage this time. Her more rational mind chimes in as well. … and whoever important has noticed these two might be happy with the results. V oltaea smiles to herself - she’s solved her puzzle - and Alara’s going to love this idea. 

         Alara turns to look at her - Shit! I’m staring, why am I staring? She can hear the smirk in her mentor’s voice before she sees it on her lips. Maybe she doesn’t mind? “I trust you have the sense to know that would make them poor allies.” Oh, good, we’re still on strategy. I can do one better than that. 

         “Yes, but -” Voltaea pauses, turns to her notes, and marks both of the twins for death under their names on her page. She feels a small pang in her chest - Ohma would hate this. - She drowns the thought - Ohma told you to live, this is what she wants. “They seem like great early targets, don’t they?”

         She almost regrets her words - almost - until she sees the huge grin form on Alara’s face that tells her this is exactly what she needed to hear. “I love the way your mind works, darling.” She feels herself burning alive from the inside out, wrapping herself in the silken sound of Alara’s compliment. “You might win yourself some friends in high places if your little theory holds true. At the very least, you’ll put on a good show - the Capitol does love its tragedies - and hunting down a set of twins? Well, it’s certainly tragic - poetic even! You might end up being a true artist in the arena.” 

         Voltaea averts her eyes - suddenly far too aware of Alara’s gaze. “I don’t know about all that, I don’t even know if this is a g-” 

         Alara interrupts - short, static, jarring, with a snap of her fingers. “Don’t be humble, it undercuts your image. If they catch you doubting yourself they’ll eat you alive.” 

         She flips her notepad to the first page - where she’s put Alara’s rules so far, and adds Don’t be humble and Don’t show doubt to her list. Her mentor glides back across the room and stops in front of her - she turns around. Her dress is still undone in the back. “Would you mind zipping me into this?” 

         Voltaea feels her words catch in her throat - so she just nods and hoists herself up from the couch-bed. Her hands are shaking - she can’t tell if it's the exhaustion or the nerves at this point - and fumbles with the zipper on the shimmering red dress. Her heartbeat is thump-thump-thumping so loudly she can barely hear anything else - the proximity almost makes her feel drunker than the wine did. She wills herself to say something - anything - just to break the gnawing tension in her chest. “It’s a… nice dress.” 

         Alara turns to look at her just as she wins her battle with the zipper. “Thank you, darling.” She winks, and Voltaea feels herself drowning in flames. “I thought you might like it.” Her mentor does a small twirl to punctuate her words and flecks of light reflect off the dress around the room like tiny, scarlet stars. She’s still mesmerized when Alara speaks again “You should settle in, my sweet, we still have four districts to go and -” She looks at the clock again “Oh, Gods above - we have less than an hour left. Nevermind then - the other districts can wait! We need to finish getting ready for your big debut!” 

         Voltaea looks at herself in the mirror across the room - the silvery detailing on the bodysuit makes it look like she's been bound in wires. The tightness of the whole outfit is strange - suffocating even. At least I still feel like myself from the neck up. “I thought this was ready.” She gestures at the suit. 

         Alara raises an eyebrow. “You don’t even have shoes on, darling, do you really think this is presentable?” 

         Voltaea starts to worry that her heart will never stop pounding in her ears at this rate. “Yes, I mean. No? I don’t know…” She shrugs - tries to play off her buzzing nerves instead of leaning into them - “I wear the same coveralls every day for work - this is your area of expertise, not mine.” 

         She gets the laugh she was hoping for out of Alara - sweet and serenading - and can’t help but smile to herself. “Of course - you just let me handle it for now. We’ll have plenty of time to teach you the ins and outs of Capitol trendsetting after you win.” She really believes I’m going to win - no - wait. I have to win. It’s not a question of belief. Don’t be humble, Don’t show doubt. 

         Alara puts a hand on Voltaea’s shoulder, guiding her back onto the couch-bed. “Sit. And if you need to squirm - do it now - I’ll need you still while I do your makeup.” Her mentor wanders to the rolling wardrobe Orville had brought earlier, and rummages through the bottom until she finds a pair of black, heeled boots with silver accents and tosses them to Voltaea. “Here, put these on, I’ll grab my kit.” She heads to the bathroom.

         Voltaea unzips the back of the boots and slides them on. They’re not completely incomprehensible like the bodysuit - more like a fancier version of what she wears to work every day. It’s almost a comfort, until she goes to stand up and remembers they have three-inch heels attached to them. She nearly trips into the coffee table trying to catch her balance. Thankfully, Alara doesn’t return with her makeup bag until she’s righted herself. 

         “The extra height does wonders - you almost look intimidating!” There’s a faint squeal from the train beneath them as the whole car lurches slightly, followed by the crackle of static from the intercom coming to life. 

         The voice of the train buzzes through the speakers - “We will be arriving in the Capitol in thirty minutes.”

         Alara glares at the speaker like it just insulted her character. “I hate rushing - but we’ll have to work with what we have.” Her mentor slides across the room and slams her makeup bag down on the table. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll do this as quickly as I can.” Voltaea sits back down - Alara grabs a pillow to rest her neck on, positioning her head so she’s facing up at her. “Hold still.” She does as she’s told - steeling herself like she had at the Reaping. Calm, collected, controlled. 

         Alara pulls a few different things out of her bag - she recognizes at least some of it - lipstick and eyeshadow, anyway. Her mother wears those every day, despite barely being able to afford them. One time, when she was younger, she’d snuck into her mother’s room and tried to put her makeup on. Teslene had smacked her when she found her - and told her she shouldn’t waste such expensive things on such a cheap-looking face. Never again. I’m not hers to tear down anymore. 

         Alara pulls out some kind of black pencil and cups Voltaea’s chin to shift her face slightly. “Close your eyes for a moment, darling. This might be a bit uncomfortable - just don’t move.” She shuts them - leans back into the pillow slightly and tries to find the rhythm of the train again. The low wubs have gotten further apart - they must be slowing down at this point. 

         She has to dig her nails into her scar to stop herself from flinching when Alara touches her eye with the pencil - but manages to keep still. It takes her a couple of minutes to work - Voltaea counts each beat of the train’s movement - leans into the warmth of the hand cupping her face. “Open, I need to see my work.” 

         Alara is much closer to her than she realized, looking her over with the same expression Voltaea gets when she’s fiddling with intricate circuitry - intense, focused, penetrating. “Perfect-” She grabs two individual eyeshadows and holds them up. “- I’ll let you choose. Silver to blend in, or red to stand out?” 

         It doesn’t take her long to decide “Red.” 

         “Good girl - close your eyes again.” Alara continues speaking after she does “I’d love to have time to do your whole face - but this will do for now.” She feels her mentor’s hand cradling her cheek - the heat is less unbearable, more comforting. It tickles slightly when she starts brushing the shadow over her eyelids but she keeps steady by counting the wubs and squeals of the train slowing beneath them. 

         “You look good in red - at least as an accent. We’ll keep this one on hand for later.” She feels the warmth pull away and opens her eyes again. Alara is smiling wildly and twirling the brush around her fingers while she admires her handiwork. 

         “Can I see what I look like?” Am I pulling this off?

         “Absolutely not - we need to do something with your lips first.” Voltaea frowns at Alara’s answer - it’s mostly for show - she didn’t really expect a yes. She yawns - that’s not for show - the exhaustion of the day is finally starting to catch up to her. 

         “Can I sleep when we’re done with this?” Am I even going to be able to? 

         “You ask too many questions - close your mouth and push your lips out a bit.” Alara models the motion with her own. “Like this.” 

         Voltaea purses her lips as best she can - trying to ignore the echoing voice of her mother in her head telling her they’re too thin. She focuses on the sounds in the moment instead - Alara’s breathing, the slowing train, the static in her ear, the heartbeat in her chest - and blends them together into something almost like a melody. Calm. 

         “I’m going a bit darker than the red we used on your eyes - it’ll give your look that edge of ferocity it needs.” Voltaea can’t picture what could possibly mean - she just lets her mentor apply the waxy substance over her lips with a practiced flourish. “Alright, give your lips a quick rub together - carefully, don’t smear it on your face.” She does her best not to ruin Alara’s hard work. 

         “Now can I look?” I hope I don’t look awful.

         “Of course, darling.” Alara reaches out a hand to help her up. Voltaea lets her pull her to her feet - she doesn’t let go - just walks the two of them to the mirror together. “There - look at us! We’re going to drive the tabloids absolutely wild. You’ll have sponsors lining up by breakfast.” 

         She looks at herself - and she’s surprised to find she’s thrilled with the results. The awful, uncomfortable pencil she applied earlier seems to have been to line her eyes with a sharp, pointed black - it brings out the color like she’s never seen before. Voltaea smiles - the blood-dark red on her lips does make her look intimidating, even with a smirk. The eyeshadow matches the tone of Alara’s dress - the glitter even catches the light in a similar way - her chest tightens at the thought. “I barely look like myself… but I do like it - a lot, actually. Thank you.”

         Alara turns to her, cups her chin with her clawed hand, and guides Voltaea to look into her eyes. “Voltaea, you sweet, silly thing - you DO look like yourself - the version you were meant to be.” She grins. “The version who’s going to take the Capitol by storm .” 

         The intercom crackles - the voice of the train only half-decipherable through the static. “We will be arriving at the Capitol in five minutes, please prepare to disembark” 

         “That’s our cue!” Alara has already dragged her halfway to the door before she realizes she’s forgotten to put her own heels on.”Just a moment, darling!” She scrambles back to the closet to grab them. Voltaea can feel the train slowing significantly - the squeal of the brakes has morphed into a constant, atonal screech that makes her head throb. Alara grabs a pair of too-tall crimson heels, sculpted from glass with metallic straps to match her dress. She slips them on with ease, and fiddles with a small switch on the back of each one. The glass bottoms fill with mist and flashes that look like red lightning - the bursts more intense every time she steps in them. 

         Alara slides her arm through Voltaea’s, linking them at the elbow. “Alright, now I’m ready. Let’s go steal the show.” She leads them out of the sleeper car - the door sliding shut behind them with a final hiss .

         They make their way down the train towards the lounge car - Alara’s heels click-click-clicking across the floor and bathing the walls with blazing red lights each time she steps. Voltaea is unsteady at first - the extra height throws off her stride - but she’s almost confident by the time they reach the lounge. “Should I say anything? Or just kind of look - you know.” She wrenches her face into the biggest scowl she can muster. “Angry?” They stop just outside the door.

         Alara turns to look at her and cackles - not the teasing one - But I wasn’t trying to make a joke. “Voltaea, darling, you look ridiculous - just keep your face neutral. Don’t give the cameras a single ounce of your attention. Eyes forward, shoulders back, keep your arm locked with mine if you need to steady yourself.”

         “Alright, got it - just like at the Reaping.” She takes a deep breath as Alara opens the door to the lounge car. They find Coulomb already waiting with Orville. There’s a duo of Peacekeepers near the entrance, and a few of the other staff are mulling around, chattering among themselves. The tanned, silent man from earlier is standing near Orville, listening intently while he chirps to him about something Voltaea can’t make out. Every head in the room turns to look at them as they walk in. Voltaea gives a half-hearted wave as Alara leads her right to the door of the train - Coulomb returns it as she passes. He’s dressed in something that almost looks like a tiny wedding suit - like she’d seen her father wear in pictures of her parent’s ceremony - but it’s a bright, almost blinding purple instead of a neat black. 

         Voltaea looks out the small window on the door - they’re going slowly enough now that the sight of the world whizzing by outside doesn’t make her feel quite so sick. She only catches a brief glimpse of the city - the lights are so bright even at this hour that she can make out hundreds of massive buildings as far as they eye can see. It looks even bigger up close than it does on Ohma’s fashion shows. The train pulls into the station and cuts off her moment of awe - now all she can see is the massive crowd of colorful Capitol citizens gathered on the platform. 

         She nearly falls into Alara when the train starts its final brake - practically screaming its way into the station as it comes to a stop. Shit, there are so many of them out there. Voltaea digs her nails into her scar and leans into the pain that shoots through it - Calm . Just stand tall and stay neutral. She squares her shoulders, sets her face straight like she had at the reaping. Collected. I’m not going to disappoint her. I’m going to win them over. She looks to Alara, who gives her a nod of approval. Her mentor whispers to her - soft and songlike. “You’re perfect, stop overthinking it.” Controlled. 

         One of the Peacekeepers presses the button to open the doors - he exits first to part the crowd. Voltaea has to stifle the urge to scream the second the soundproofing is broken. There’s just so many voices - so many flashes - so many ridiculous outfits, hairdos, and surgical alterations that half of the people on the platform barely register to her as human. The crackle of static in her ears rises like it's trying to drown out the overwhelming noise of it all. She keeps her eyes forward and locks the rhythm of her steps with the click-click-click of Alara’s heels as they descend the stairs onto the platform.

         The only thing that feels familiar to her in this awful place is the warmth of Alara’s arm still wrapped around her own - she tries to focus on that - hopes it’ll be enough to keep her upright as the discordant chorus of the crowd shouts question after question at her. She couldn’t answer them if she’d tried - she can barely make out what they’re saying. Alara seems more engaged - winking at cameras, waving to the crowd, flashing her freshly-filed nails at a journalist who actually screams and falls into the woman next to him in response. Oh. I get it now. Everyone here is completely insane. Somehow that thought makes it a bit easier to ignore them as they make their way to a set of stairs at the opposite end of the station. The Peacekeepers have taken position at the bottom to keep the horde of onlookers away.  

         They start their descent - the deafening roar of the crowd receding behind them with every step. I hope that’s the last of them. To Voltaea’s relief, the click-click-click of Alara’s heels is audible again - quickly overtaking the rest of the noise from above as they round the first platform on the stairs and continue climbing downward. Alara leans over to whisper again - just loud enough for her to hear. “This tunnel will take us right to the Training Center - they had it put in after a boy from District 6 tried to dart into traffic, some fifteen-or-so years back. He failed to get himself killed, of course, but not without making an impact.” 

         “Are we done with crowds?” She whispers back, a note of panic creeping into her voice. 

         "For now.” They reach the bottom of the stairs and begin their trek down the long, faintly-lit hallway - Alara’s flashing red heels casting an eerie glow as they go. They walk without words for a while - the lights along the walls hum faintly - Alara’s clicking steps echo as they go. 

         They approach a set of glass doors at the far end - it looks like an elevator. Voltaea has never actually seen one outside of textbooks. “YES! I’ve always wanted to ride one of these!” She’s practically buzzing with excitement, she can’t contain herself. 

         Alara gives her a strange look - half smiling, half questioning. “You have an odd set of interests, darling, but who am I to judge?” 

         She feels the tell-tale shock of embarrassment creep into her face. “I… like technology.” Voltaea trips over her words a bit. “It’s not like there’s anything like this in Five. They have us read about it, so we can understand the principles behind how they work, but that's nothing like seeing it up close, you know? I just. I don’t know…” 

         Alara releases her arm, pushes a button on a panel next to the door, and turns to face her. “You don’t have to justify yourself, Voltaea. This was all new to me once, too.” Her voice trails off for a moment, when she speaks again it’s softer, almost sentimental. That’s new. “I remember the first time I ate something that wasn’t baked from tesserae grain or thrown-together scraps - it was just a steak, nothing special, but Gods - the taste! Everything in the Capitol is like that - richer, fuller, better than it is in the Districts. It was the first time I felt like there might be something more for me out there if I could just figure out how to take it. ” 

         The elevator doors open, and Alara ushers them inside the glass-walled room. Coulomb and Orville are trailing behind further down the hallway, along with the rest of the staff from the train. Alara yells out “No time to hold the doors, you’ll have to grab the next one!” She presses a button on the inner panel that shuts the doors immediately, then the one labeled “District Five”. 

         Alara turns back to Voltaea as the elevator lurches upward. “You’ll have to excuse my lie - I just can’t stand being stuck in close quarters with Orville… or children prone to sobbing… or most people, really.” 

         Voltaea laughs - she can’t really stand being close to Orville either. Not that he’s the worst person, it’s just that awful, sickly, chirping voice of his drives her nuts . Oh, wait, that means… “So you don’t mind being stuck with me?”

         Alara rolls her eyes, but she still has a smirk at the corner of her lips when she speaks. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” The elevator is suddenly bathed in bright light as they ascend into the largest, most elaborate room Voltaea has ever seen. She presses up against the glass to get a better look as they shoot upward. 

         “It’s huge!” She can see uniformed staff and crazily-dressed Capitolians running around like ants on the floor below. 

         Alara wraps an arm over her shoulder and pulls her down slightly to whisper in her ear - “That’s just the lobby, darling, wait until you see our private floor.” They ascend out of the lobby and she has to turn her gaze back to her mentor to stay upright. The way the floors fly past them in rapid succession gives her the same feeling she had on the train looking out the window - like falling. 

         The elevator starts to grind slightly - then stops with a lurch as they reach what she can only assume is their private floor. There’s an electronic ding sound as the doors open - Alara slides her arm down to wrap it around her waist and guide her forward. The room they enter is vast - the lounge area alone is bigger than her whole apartment back in Five. The couch might be bigger than the apartment by itself. There's a large, almost circular sofa in a black and white pattern with huge, red accent pillows spread deliberately around it - a massive screen on the wall on the open side is airing some kind of late-night news program but the volume is muted. 

         There’s soft background music - light drums, some kind of strings - that swirls through the room and makes it feel far cozier than its size would suggest it is. The lights above whine faintly - it’s not as bad as some of the fluorescents back home, but it’s noticeable, especially up close. Alara leads her over to the couch. “Sit. I’ll grab us a nightcap before I show you to your room.” 

         She lets herself sink into the sofa - watches as Alara clicks her way across the room to a marbled bar counter. It’s even softer than the furniture on the train - she leans over and lets her head rest on one of the fluffy red pillows. Alara bends over to undo the straps on her heels - Voltaea shuts her eyes to squash the overwhelming urge to stare as she does. 

         Voltaea hears a faint clunk - She’s probably thrown her shoes again. The soothing music from the speakers above them winds its way into her ears. I’m so tired. She hears the thumping of her heart slow as she breathes deeply and sinks further into the sofa. I don’t think she'll be mad if I take a quick nap, will she? The silence of sleep overtakes her before she has a chance to get an answer. 

Chapter Text

Nerves: Alara

        Alara Vox can feel how nervous Voltaea is before they’ve even opened the doors to the train. You think you’re hiding it from me, darling, but I can see your mind racing - you have that look in your eye. She whispers to her girl that she’s perfect - to stop overthinking - she means it. She can feel Voltaea soften on her arm as she speaks. Good girl.

        The Peacekeepers open the doors to the train and she leads Voltaea out - arm in arm - behind them. A throng of reporters near the stairs start barking questions at her as soon as they see her - “Is this your favorite tribute this year? Do you think you have a chance?” - “Who’s your stylist this year? you both look incredible!” - “FashionPulse ran an article an hour ago claiming you personally escorted your tributes to the train for the first time - what changed?”. She ignores them all - opting to wink, wave, and blow kisses to the cameras instead. Fucking vultures - Not one of them understands greatness when they see it. 

        She notices a reporter who she’d met a few weeks ago when he came on as a guest to the Crimson Cut - she can’t think of his name - she just remembers he was there to do a piece about Victor-led fashion trends that very nearly bored her to death. Let’s see what you make of this. She flashes her nails - the one’s shes filed down just for her girl. He squeals like a stuck pig and nearly faints into the camerawoman next to him as they continue past. Perfect, they’ll have six thinkpieces out about what this means by breakfast. 

        Voltaea still feels stiff walking beside her - but she does look incredible - just as stern and steely and mysterious as she’d hoped she would. They approach the stairs at the opposite end of the platform and she can feel the tension leave her girl again as they start their descent. She explains where they’re headed as they round the first corner on the stairs - picking up their pace just slightly in the hopes she can put a gap between her and Orville. I might have to kill the boy if he tries to ride up with us - I’ve had enough of everyone today. 

        Voltaea seems to feel similarly because she asks if they’ve finished with the crowds. “For now.” It’s all the comfort she can give. We both belong to the audience now, darling - you’ll adjust. They walk in silence for a while - she can hear Orville chattering to his teary little whelp somewhere behind them and walks a bit faster. 

        They stop in front of the elevator and she sees Voltaea get genuinely excited - her face lights up the same way it did when she told her about all of her plans. The sickly-sweet taste of sentiment wells up in her throat and she can’t be bothered to fight it this time. “YES! I’ve always wanted to ride one of these!” 

        Alara has to stifle the urge to laugh - it’s almost childish - but endearing, I’ll give you that . “You have an odd set of interests, darling, but who am I to judge?” Her girl flushes, tries to over-explain herself like she’s done something wrong. She cuts her off and summons the elevator. 

        “You don’t have to justify yourself, Voltaea. This was all new to me once, too.” The memory hits her like a speeding train - it’s like seeing her younger self realize there was more to the world than her petty existence for the first time. “I remember the first time I ate something that wasn’t baked from tesserae grain or thrown-together scraps - it was just a steak, nothing special, but Gods - the taste! Everything in the Capitol is like that - richer, fuller, better than it is in the Districts. It was the first time I felt like there might be something more for me out there if I could just figure out how to take it. ” 

        She hadn’t meant to go on like that. Voltaea is staring at her with a look of awe like she’s just revealed some grand secret of the universe - she almost feels embarrassed. Get a grip, Alara. They step into the elevator and she calls out to Orville - they won’t be riding together if she has anything to say about it - and closes the door. 

        “You’ll have to excuse my lie - I just can’t stand being stuck in close quarters with Orville… or children prone to sobbing… or most people, really.” Her girl tries to bait a compliment in response - She rolls her eyes. Cute, but I won’t bite this time, you’ll have to try harder. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

        It’s an elevator ride she’s taken more than a dozen times before, but Voltaea is so enchanted by the experience that she can’t help but smile. They don’t talk much on the way up - just idle chatter. I’m glad you’re having fun, darling - but I’d prefer to be the source of your excitement. She wraps an arm around her girl - whispers in her ear - just to see that beautiful blush in her cheeks again. 

        When they finally reach District Five’s private floor she slides her arm strategically down to Voltaea’s waist. She twitches, but doesn’t fight the gesture - just lets herself be led over to the large, circular sectional in the lounge area. “Sit. I’ll grab us a nightcap before I show you to your room.” Her girl does as she’s told and Alara glides over to the bar counter to mix something relaxing for the two of them. No drugs this time - a clean white liquor and orange juice with a splash of syrup. 

        It’s apparently an exercise in futility, because when she turns around Voltaea is already curled up with a pillow - dead to the world. She sighs - not like it would do any good to move her now. Alara leaves the drinks on the bar counter and wanders to the windows - pressing a button on the side that fades them to black so the sun won’t disturb the poor thing when it comes up in a few hours. 

        The elevator doors fling open again and Orville is chatting away with the boy and several other staff - loudly. She shoots a glare at him and raises a finger to her lips. He at least has the awareness to shut up when he sees her, and ushers the tired-looking brat out of the room when he notices the sleeping form of Voltaea on the sectional. The rest of them scatter like roaches - off to wherever they go when they’re not irritating her. 

        Alara grabs both drinks off of the bar - I suppose that means there’s more for me. She steals a last glance at Voltaea - she looks so much softer in sleep. The poor thing hadn’t even bothered to change her clothes - she still looks more comfortable than Alara has ever felt in her life. She’s tempted to curl up on the other side of the couch, just to see if it’s as nice as her girl makes it look . She resists the urge - heading down the hallway to her own private suite. 

        She’s relieved to find the space is just as she left it - half art, half chaos, all hers . It’s the one place in the world she has that no one else can touch - apart from the occasional cleaner she has in to deal with those particularly large messes she creates from time to time. The enormous, red-draped canopy bed centered on the far wall is practically screaming for her to crawl into it and let the world melt away - There’s still a few things left to do before that’s an option. She slams back one of the drinks in her hand in honor of being home again, leaving the glass on the vanity near the door.

        Alara heads to the bathroom and sets the shower as hot as it will allow her to, then rummages through the medicine cabinet for her nightly pills. One for the blood pressure, one for the pain, one to chase off the nightmares where she can still hear the screams of the tributes she’s lost - like she’s watching the live broadcast all over again. No more of that, not this year. She swallows them with a handful of water from the sink as the shower steam starts to fill the room. She discards her dress in the corner of the room, puts her remaining drink down next to the sink, then steps into the scalding hot water to burn away the cloud around her thoughts. Clarity . 

        It's too hot - “Fuck!” - she cranks the temperature down to a manageable level and presses up to the side wall while the water corrects itself. The water calms after a few seconds and she steps back under the stream, letting it wash away the stain of the Reaping and the lingering stench of smog on her skin. She feels the tension melting from every muscle - every thought working its way back into order - every nerve ending wrapped in warmth and calm . 

        She’d expected this year to be like every other - sometimes there’d be one potentially promising tribute, but not one she saw any real fight in. Usually it’d just be two useless whelps she’d have to mourn before they even set foot in the arena. Voltaea surprised her - it’s difficult to do after all these years - that alone has to count for something. Apart from herself, she’d never met someone quite so dead inside who still felt like fighting - that's the kind of advantage you need in the Games. A willingness to do whatever it takes to survive. 

        Alara wasn’t quite sure her girl had that in her until she’d bragged about being able to behead a man with a wire trap with a smile on her face. That kind of drive can’t be taught in a few days of training - hells, some of the Careers don’t have that in them and they get years to practice. And the way Voltaea looks at her? Like you think I’m something divine . That’s the luckiest hand she’s been dealt in decades. 

        She grabs for a cherry blossom and rose scented body wash - one of her favorites - and squirts it onto a washcloth. I didn’t even have to ask you to kill those twins - you’re already six steps ahead. She lathers herself, savoring the smell of the soap - the softness of the cloth - the steam from the shower - as she works her way over her skin from top to bottom. 

        Her mind wanders back to the train - where her girl had gotten so worked up from the slightest attention that she’d practically thrown herself at her. There’s a slight pang of something like guilt? Regret, perhaps? A fleeting thought that maybe, somehow, she’s taken advantage of the situation. She chases it off. Unnecessary. The girl clearly thrives on the attention - who am I to take that from her? 

        Besides, Alara had been sixteen once. It’s not like that had stopped Snow from selling her to the highest bidder. The first year after her victory, that was her lot - at least until she had a real reason to stay in the Capitol. She’d had to prove her worth to the man before he let her run free - hells, she still does. Every late-night manipulation, every planted tabloid scandal, every spin on a death she puts on live TV - she’s done everything Snow has ever asked of her. I won’t allow that to happen to you. 

        But how to guarantee that? If she makes it out alive - and Alara is certain she will - there’s always a risk she draws his attention. Or that some spectacularly rich sponsor will want a crack at her for their spending troubles. No. This one is mine. She surprises herself - she’s never been one to get attached. With Voltaea… it’s different. She can’t even imagine a world now where she doesn’t walk out alive. Where they don’t take the Capitol by storm together. Hang on… 

        What sells better than a scandal? Nothing, that’s what. The threads of a plan start to weave themselves together. It’s going to happen eventually - her girl clings to her whenever they’re together as it is. And if we plant the seeds now - an innuendo here or there - a stray touch too many in public… She smiles for an audience of no-one but herself. Maybe a photograph at just the right moment, leaked anonymously of course… 

        It's manipulative - underhanded - even a bit immoral, perhaps. Alara knows the game well enough to admit that - it’s for your own good, darling. Better to be mine than theirs. She’ll still have to convince Voltaea it’s her own idea, of course. I’ll have to turn the pressure up a notch if we’re going to break through those walls of yours before the countdown starts. 

        She mulls over a few ideas on how she could do that - at least until the pull of exhaustion becomes too strong to resist.  She has to step out of the shower before she falls asleep standing, flicking on the powerful heated blower above her to dry off. She pulls a plush-fabric robe from the rack next to the shower and slips it on alongside a pair of slippers. 

        Alara catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror as she walks by - her hair and makeup are disastrous - We’ll have stylists in all day, no one else will see you in this state, let it be for now and take a rest. She coaches herself through the twisting knot of pain that forms whenever something about her is out of place. 

        She grabs the remaining drink from the corner of the sink and brings it to bed with her, leaving it on the nightstand while she slides under the scarlet silk sheets and props herself up with a few pillows. She claps twice - the lights come on in response, illuminating the space enough that she’s able to find the TV remote before clapping them off again. She flicks through the channels until she finds one that’s airing a rerun of her own show - something about the familiarity of it helps her fall asleep on nights like these.

        Alara grabs the drink and takes a sip - the burn of the liquor in her throat and the warmth in her chest lulling her into a sense of serenity once again. She lets the glass clatter back onto the table as she curls up under the covers - listening to an argument between herself and Ismene playing out on the screen across the way. They’re going back and forth about who’s styling team was better in the 58th Games - It was mine, and I’ll stand by that. Her eyes drift shut, and she lets the warmth of winning that argument carry her into sleep. 

        She wakes to a knock at the door after what seems like no time at all - her head pounding in revolt at the interruption. There’s light coming in through the window now, and the television has turned itself off - so it can’t be quite as soon as she thinks. The alarm clock on her nightstand reads 9:30. What absolute fucking moron thinks its acceptable to wake me before noontime? 

        Alara springs out of bed - her head throbs violently in response. She can taste the copper tang of blood on the back of her tongue from some middle-of-the-night nosebleed. Her robe flies open and she wraps it back around herself half-heartedly while she heads for the door. 

        Her anger dissipates when she sees it’s Voltaea on the other side - still in the suit from yesterday, with her hair half fallen around her shoulders. She has to steady herself - her head still pounds and she feels a bit dizzy from the drinking. She settles on propping herself on the doorframe with one elbow in a casual lean that lets the front of her robe open ever so slightly . Her voice is still hoarse from sleep - not ideal - she’ll have to see if it still affects her girl the same. 

        “Voltaea -” The immediate blush in her girl’s cheeks tells her that yes, the effect is the same. “- Didn’t anyone warn you I don’t like to be woken up this early?” she keeps her tone light - with just enough edge to make her girl squirm . 

        Voltaea’s eyes drop down - she’s gone and embarrassed the poor thing again. “Um… they did try to tell me… I just… I don’t know…” She watches her girl flinch and dig her nails into her scar as she speaks. “Shit! Nevermind. I’ll just go back to breakfast…” 

        Alara grabs her arm as she starts to turn. You really think you’re getting away that easily? “You’ve already woken me up, darling - you may as well come inside. I’ll have them bring your food down if you’re still hungry.” She looks her girl over - pointedly enough for her to notice and shift nervously under Alara’s gaze. “I have a spare robe you can use until the stylists arrive.” 

        She leads Voltaea into the suite and shuts the door behind them - pointing her to the bathroom so she can pick herself a robe. “They’re on the rack next to the shower, you can take whichever you’d like.” Alara leaves her to her task - some part of her hoping she’ll be called in to rescue her girl from the bodysuit once again. She takes a seat on her sofa while she waits - flipping through the channels on the television until she finds one playing coverage of their arrival last night. 

        They’re absolutely the talk of the town - Voltaea’s bold look, stern features, and refusal to engage the cameras have driven the two talking heads on screen absolutely wild with excitement. Alara’s little stunt with her nails gets a mention too - speculation abound about what could have possibly prompted such a departure from her usual style. One suggests she could have taken up with a secret lover back in District Five. “There are rumors that she’s been with women over the years-” he says  “- and you know, with the mechanics of that and all…” Those rumors are mostly true, of course, but I’ve never cared to soften myself for any of them. Still - she’s thrilled to see the seeds have been planted for her little plan. 

        Voltaea emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later wearing a black robe with silver threading that shows off every inch of her legs. It’s the first time she’s seen her hair down in full - she’s shocked her girl didn’t force it back up while she was changing. You’re even more beautiful in disarray. “Alara? Do you think I could try your shower? I feel kind of gross…” 

        Alara has to push her a bit further, but she can’t hide the amusement in her voice. “I mean, you can - but my sweet, you do realize there’s a shower in your suite right?” 

        “I’d have to walk by Orville again, and he’s too loud right now. It’s making my head hurt.” That’s just the hangover, darling. Alara rolls her eyes. She watches her girl stumble over her next words as they fall out of her lips. “And I don’t want to be alone, okay?” 

        Alara stands and strides towards the bathroom, grabbing her girl’s hand as she passes. “It’s a good thing I’m such excellent company, then.” Voltaea smiles at that. Good girl . “Come on - I’ll show you how it all works.” She spends a few minutes going over the temperature dials, where the soaps are, finding her a washcloth, and explaining the blow-dryer. Voltaea nods along intently, hanging on every word. 

        “I’ll get us something to wake up with - you just relax here for a bit.” She gives Voltaea’s hand a quick squeeze before heading back out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. Not the worst outcome to an early start, I suppose. 

        She makes her way back to the sofa and sprawls out, grabbing the phone receiver off its stand on the coffee table and dialing out to the one in the main lounge area. It rings twice before Orville picks up “Hello, this is Orville, can I direct your call?” 

        “No, but you can bring me two coffees and an explanation as to why I’ve been woken up so early.” She lets a little extra venom drip into her voice, just to get him moving. 

        “Oh! Alara, I apologize - I tried to explain to the girl that you don’t usually take guests until - “ she cuts him off, whatever else he has to say is irrelevant - At least he knows better.

        “Nevermind, just bring the coffee - quickly - before my patience slips again.” she hangs up before he has a chance to reply. Her attention flits back to the news - they’re talking about District One’s tributes now, the talking heads going back and forth about which one is prettier, Cymbria or Marcelus. She yawns - dull - and flips through the channels until she lands on something covering Five again. 

        There's a knock at the door, and she rises to open it. Orville stands on the other side - carrying two coffees and an array of sugars, creamers, and flavorings on a tray balanced deftly on one of his chubby hands. He’s dressed in that hideous blue again - this time a dyed fur coat over a glittering vest with a white-jeweled bow-tie. “Your coffees“ He hands her the tray and she nods - it’s almost like thanks, except she doesn’t have to embarrass herself by saying it. “Do you need anything else? I’m just preparing everything for the stylists now - I think we have a new one this year - but I can grab whatever you need in the meantime.”

        She waves him off. “Nothing, but call me when they arrive - I don’t want anyone else knocking this morning.” She shuts the door again before he can irritate her with more idle chatter. She brings the tray over to the table by the sofa and sets it down before wandering to her dresser to grab the box in the top drawer labeled “Recreational Medications”.

        Alara flips the lid open and rummages through until she finds what she's looking for - a vial of pink powder for her girl, a vial of white for her - and takes them over to her seat. The pink is a bit weaker - beginner friendly - it’ll give her just the edge of focus she needs later. She uncorks the vial and scoops some out with one of her sharpened nails, tipping it into one of the coffees and stirring it around until the powder dissolves. 

        She cuts herself a line of the white - she’ll need all the help she can get today. After a moment of fumbling through the couch cushions for the straw she's certain she dropped in there - she finds it. It’s all ritual from there - sniff , head back, nose pinched, sniff again. The chemical drip in her throat numbs her as it runs - her heart races - her tremor rises - she can feel every light in the room get brighter as her mind perfects itself. 

        Voltaea emerges from the bathroom with the robe wrapped back around her just as she’s sucking a particularly nasty drip back - Fuck, you’re quicker than I thought. She’s dripping all over the carpet - clearly having failed to turn the blowers on to dry herself properly - hair still down and wild from the wetness. “Do you have a towel?”

        “In the bottom drawer of the dresser - over there -” She points. Voltaea finds one and wraps it around her hair. Her girl makes her way over to where she’s sitting and slides into place at her side - without so much as a word this time. The vials are still out - she hadn’t meant for that to happen - perhaps some transparency, then? But how to even broach the subject… she thinks in silence. 

        Voltaea breaks the spell. “I want to make my last guess.” 

        She turns to look at her - confused. “About what, darling?”

        Voltaea gestures to her tremor. “About that.” 

        Alara laughs - Cheeky, but I’ll bite. “Alright, what’s your guess?”

        She reaches over and picks up the vial of drugs on the table - Alara resists the urge to rip it out of her hand. Don’t blow it by being greedy. “It’s this. A side effect. I noticed it when we were in your sleeper car - and now -” she gestures to her tremor again. “You took more - probably while I was in the shower. You’re shaking worse than when I got here.” Voltaea’s tone isn’t judgemental, really. Or even concerned. It’s assertive - like she’s just solved some kind of puzzle and wants to brag about how fucking smart she thinks she is. A huge grin forms on her face when she looks at Alara. “Does this mean I win?” No, you sweet, silly thing. You haven’t.  

        “Your guess is right, I’ll give you that.”  She winks, points to the alarm clock on the nightstand. “But you still lose. I told you, you had till we got to the Capitol. We’ve been here eight hours now.” 

        “Oh come on, let me have this one -” Voltaea leans in and gives her a look of faux-sadness that she can’t help but laugh at. 

        “Darling, if I did, you’d never learn anything.” Alara brushes her girl’s hair behind her ear and watches her melt in response. “Timing is everything in this place. You might be the brightest there is, but if you don’t set off that flash of brilliance at just the right time -” she snaps her fingers pointedly. “It’ll burn right out.” 

        Voltaea nods, her brow furrowing in thought. “I wish I brought my notes from the train - I should write this down.” 

        “I’ll have Orville send his Avox down for it later. For now, you should have one of these -” she hands her girl the cup of coffee she dosed with the stims earlier. 

        Voltaea smells it - gags slightly. “It smells bitter, what is this?” 

        “Coffee - you can add cream and sugar if you need to mellow it out a bit.” she pauses, weighing her options before she speaks. “I’ve dosed it with a little something extra to help you focus.” 

        Her girl stiffens - stares at the drink in her hand - swirling it in circles and watching a whirlpool form at the center. She’s silent for what feels like eternity before she whispers. “Do you think it’s worth it? Will it help me win?” 

        Alara feels the warm embrace of winning wrap around her once more. She leans in to whisper back, directly in Voltaea’s ear. “Yes.” she retreats - her voice low - almost seductive. “But if you think you can’t handle it…” 

        “No! I can handle it -” There’s your competitive spirit! Voltaea takes a deep breath, plugs her nose with one hand - and drinks the whole thing back in one go. 

        Alara wraps an arm around her as she puts the cup down, leaning in so she can hear the pulse rising in her throat as the stims start to do their work. Voltaea leans in, drawn to the contact like a moth to a flame. Alara’s lips graze just below her ear. Voltaea gasps — soft, barely audible — it takes every ounce of restraint Alara has not to shatter right there. “Good girl.”

Chapter Text

Duty: Orville

        Orville Straud has tried his very best to make the first day in the Capitol run smoothly - it isn’t enough. He’d kept the lounge quiet, on Alara’s orders. Her new favorite toy had collapsed onto the sectional last night and fallen asleep before he’d made it upstairs with Coulomb - her deadly glare made it clear the girl was not to be disturbed. He’d brought the boy to his quarters and made him swear not to wake either Voltaea or Alara before bringing him a slice of cake and chamomile tea to help him sleep. The poor child has enough to worry about without getting wrapped up in… whatever is going on between those two. 

        As it turns out, Coulomb wasn’t much of a listener - he’d snuck off and woken Voltaea as soon as Claudius had arrived at the suite with their breakfast the next morning. The girl is a mess - still wearing the bodysuit Alara had chosen for her the night before - half-drenched in nightsweats - hair stuck every which way and tangled in knots - eyes bloodshot and glassy from the after-effects of whatever that woman had slipped her yesterday. She looks utterly lost as to how she had ended up here. 

        Coulomb seems unfazed by her state, or by Orville’s attempt at gesturing to please stop doing things that will make Vox despise you more. He just pipes up like it’s a completely normal morning - “Hey V, I thought you might want breakfast - they have so much fruit here!”

        She nods at him - gives a brief, faint smile - but doesn’t speak. Her eyes are scanning the room like she’s on the hunt for something. Or someone. When she lands on Orville, she asks the question he was hoping she wouldn’t - “Where’s Alara?” 

        He straightens his back, stifles the urge to tell her to run away while she still can, and says “Ms. Vox has given me standing orders to not disturb her before noontime - if you’d like I can take you there after she wakes, but for now I think it might be best if you have some breakfast.”

        “I think I’ll take my chances. I can eat later.” Voltaea pulls herself up from the sofa as she speaks. “Where’s her room?” 

        Don’t be stupid, don’t interfere. Orville ignores himself. “I truly cannot emphasize enough how much Alara dislikes being woken up before she’s ready. If you aren’t up for breakfast just yet I could bring you to your quarters so you -”

        She cuts him off with a death glare and a snarl that he swears he’s seen Alara use with him before. “No - I told you, I have to see her.” By Snow’s grace, why are you so difficult? 

        He’s trying to find a more tactful way to phrase that thought when Coulomb pipes up again - grabbing the girl's hand lightly as he speaks. “I’ll show you where her room is if you’ll eat something first. I saw her walk down there last night.” 

        Then, to Orville’s surprise, she softens. “Okay.” she gives the boy another, faint smile. “You’re better at Orville’s job than he is.” Why you little shi… He takes a deep breath - reminds himself of reality for a moment. She’s a teenager with no etiquette training, don’t take it personally. 

        Orville follows behind the girl and Coulomb, shooting a glance at Claudius as they approach. The avox hasn’t moved from his position beside the serving cart. He gestures back at him using their code - the sign for girl, the sign for Alara, and the sign for danger. Orville frowns - throws up a shrug. What am I supposed to do if she won’t listen to reason? 

        The avox furnishes each tribute with a plate and a roll of silverware, stepping away so they can have free reign of the buffet atop the cart. He looks back to Orville - gesturing again. He picks up the sign for Alara - the rest is indecipherable. Orville fires back with a sign for I don’t understand. 

        Coulomb is chatting away to the girl about the different foods they should try - she flinches every time his voice raises in pitch like it hurts her to listen, but keeps nodding along, loading small portions onto her plate. Definitely a hangover - why Vox thinks this’ll help her is beyond me. Claudius signs to him again - whiteboard. He wants to write something to me. 

        Strictly speaking, they aren’t supposed to be communicating back and forth at all. At first, Orville had followed that rule - only speaking to the avox when he had something for him to do. It offended his sensibilities, however, to be so rude - he was trained to have manners , afterall. It’d taken Orville a full year to work up the courage to ask Claudius his name, even then. The handsome avox had written it in the dust atop a table before quickly wiping it away with his sleeve. Orville started bringing an erasable board around in his luggage after that - less unsightly than having to dirty a surface every time they needed to speak to one another. It’s how they’d started to develop their signing code.

        He watches the tributes wander back to the sectional, Coulomb still chatting away to a nauseous-looking Voltaea who picks over her food. When he’s certain they’re occupied, he motions for Claudius to follow him down the hall to his quarters, shutting the door behind them as they enter. He rummages in his bag until he finds the whiteboard, and hands it to the avox. “Alright, my friend, what are you trying to tell me?” 

        Claudius takes the board, quickly scrawling across it with a marker - I think Vox has an interest in the girl beyond mentoring. 

        Orville tenses - tries to ignore the churning feeling in his stomach at the avox’s words. “I… look, between the two of us, I’ll admit I find the whole dynamic very strange… bordering on obsessive, even. But what are we to do about it?”

        He erases the marker with his sleeve, scribbling across the board with a growing look of frustration on his face. He erases twice more before settling on what he wants to say - She’s a kid - she should have someone looking out for her. Trying to warn her at least! We could warn her. 

        Orville throws his hands up, flustered. “I HAVE been trying to warn her. I swear it’s as if everyone this year has earplugs in - not one of them, including you, seems to be hearing me.” Claudius looks… almost sad, resigned. He sighs and walks to the avox’s side, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Please, my friend, tell me why this has you so concerned? I’ve never seen you so worked up about a tribute before.” 

        Claudius erases the board once more, writing slowly this time - taking care to hide his work from Orville until he finishes. I have strong convictions against those in power who abuse it for their own ends. For your own safety, ask no more. 

        He’s about to say something in rebuttal - to ask what in Snow’s name he means by that - but can’t bring himself to - not when he sees the tears sliding down his dear friend’s face. His heart races, chest tightening at the sight of the handsome face now streaked with pain. Etiquette be damned - this man has been his closest confidant for nearly six years now. Orville pulls Claudius into a hug. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard to watch. There’s only so much we can do, but I’ll try what I can.” 

        They pull away after a moment - Claudius has curtailed his crying once more. He nods to Orville, hands him the board, and signs thank you. Orville opens his luggage, hiding the whiteboard back near the bottom - just in case . They share a fleeting moment of silence, side by side, before returning to the lounge. 

        They find Coulomb alone on the sectional, watching cartoons, struggling to eat what appears to be his third plate of breakfast judging by the empty ones on the table. The girl is missing - her plate rests half-eaten next to where she was sitting. “Hey Mr. Orville. Did you get to have breakfast yet?” 

        He feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. The boy seems to do nothing but care for people. It’s going to be the death of him. But puts on a smile in spite of his worries. “I haven’t - why don’t you tell me what’s happened with your friend while I grab myself a plate?” 

        “She went to see Ms. Vox a minute ago - she said you were ‘too chirpy’ this morning and she needed the quiet.” He puts air quotes around the bit about being chirpy. Orville loads a plate with sausages, bacon, pancakes, and biscuits as the boy speaks. Claudius returns to his post by the entrance. “I tried to get her to eat breakfast, but I think she might feel sick.” the boy shifts uncomfortably for a moment - he looks like he’s holding back tears. “My dad used to get sick a lot - I can tell.” 

        Orville nearly starts crying himself - it’s been nothing but a torrent of emotions since they arrived last night. That would go against every ounce of his training of course, so he stifles the feeling. He walks to the couch and puts his plate down on the table, opening his mouth to say something in an attempt to distract the boy when the phone starts to ring. “A moment, I have to answer this.” 

        He clears his throat, straightens himself out, and pulls the phone to his ear. “Hello, this is Orville, can I direct your call?” 

        His veins turn to ice when he hears Alara’s voice on the other end of the line - I’m going to get an earful about this - “No, but you can bring me two coffees and an explanation as to why I’ve been woken up so early.”

        So she’s still with her, then? That doesn’t bode well. “Oh! Alara, I apologize - I tried to explain to the girl that you don’t usually take guests until - “ he’s cut off before he can finish his explanation. Of course. 

        “Nevermind, just bring the coffee - quickly - before my patience slips again.” he hears the receiver click silent before he can even string a thought together. 

        He practically sprints to the breakfast cart, pouring two cups of coffee and scrambling to find all the creams, sugars, and flavorings he can to arrange into some presentable fashion. “Claudius - grab me a tray, please?” The avox glides to the bar counter and produces a silver serving tray from under it, handing it to Orville. He arranges the spread - for balance and beauty, as he was trained - and hoists the tray onto one hand to carry it down the hall. “I’ll be back” he turns to look over his shoulder at the boy as he speaks. “Try and enjoy the cartoons for a moment without your worries, alright?” Coulomb nods, but he still looks solemn when he turns back to the television. 

        Orville carries the arrangement down the hall to the very - end where Alara’s private quarters are - and tries to wipe the discomfort off his face before knocking. Alara opens the door - she hasn’t bothered to get herself ready for the day yet. No makeup, no styling, just a silk robe and a stinging stare. He can’t see the girl anywhere - but he hears the shower running in the background. I have never in all my years seen her behave like this. He keeps his composure. “Your coffees“ he hands her the tray, and she nods - no venom, no insult to his character, no implication that he’s done wrong by letting the girl wake her. Even stranger still. 

        He asks if she needs anything else - rambles a bit about the styling team as if it’ll distract him from the growing unease in his gut. She waves him away with a directive to call when the team arrives rather than knock, before shutting the door in his face. Orville makes his way back to the lounge to make an attempt at eating before the day’s preparations begin in earnest. 

        Coulomb has abandoned his place on the sofa, and is perched on a barstool chattering away to Claudius who looks on with something almost resembling a smile. They turn when he enters the room. “Mr. Orville! Look!” the boy throws up a sign with his hands - the one for Orville’s name. “I was asking about you guys’s secret code and your friend showed me how to say your name!” 

        Orville throws a finger up to his mouth and shushes him immediately . The boy looks hurt - he feels his heart sink in response. He walks over, leaning in close enough that they can whisper. “I have to ask you not to speak so loudly about this, my young friend. It’s secret for a reason.” The boy nods and furrows his brow like he’s deep in thought. 

        After a moment, he speaks again. “Okay” Coulomb drops his voice to a matching whisper. “But I want to learn how you do it.” 

        “But… why?” He’s utterly confused as to what use this could be to the boy - much as he’d like to be helpful to him. Claudius gestures with a stern look - listen. 

        The boy looks at his feet as he speaks again. “I’m… I’m not strong - and I’m not fast either.” Orville opens his mouth to say something in protest but Claudius holds up a hand - stop . “But I’m really good at making friends - and I learn quickly, my teachers have always said so. I think I can make myself look more useful to allies if I can teach us how to talk in secret, like you guys do.” 

        It’s not at all what he expected - and not the worst plan he could have come up with - Orville chases any remaining nerves to the side and nods affirmatively. “Alright, we’ll try and teach you what we can.” Claudius grins in his direction and signs - good choice . 

        They set to work immediately - Orville acting as the mouthpiece for Claudius’s frantic gesturing while Coulomb listens intently. Coulomb really is a quick study - by the end of the hour he can coherently sign several useful things back and forth with them. This includes - more cake please - which Orville gladly obliges.

        As Coulomb digs into the cinnamon coffee cake he’s brought from the breakfast cart, Orville busies himself with setting up the lounge for the styling teams. He digs out adjustable chairs from the closets, lighting fixtures, mirrors, room dividers - all arranged for maximum efficiency. It’s a source of pride for him, at this point - how quickly he can transform the whole space for a new purpose. 

        As he’s setting up the last of the lights - he hears a knock at the door to the suite. What time is it? He looks at his watch - it’s already 11:30! He gestures to Claudius to retake his position, then turns to Coulomb. “I think the styling teams have arrived!” He signs to the boy - quiet, please. The boy nods, and Orville readies himself to answer the door. 

        He gasps when he opens it - It seems we’ve moved up in the world this year! The stylist assigned to them is a heavily glitter-coated man named Pontius - Orville recognizes him immediately. He’s been heavily promoted on the talk show circuits this past year as THE hot new thing in Hunger Games fashion after an explosive debut last year as the stylist for District One. Orville had expected he’d stay with the Career district - as any sensible person would - so to see him here… it was shocking, to say the least. The man reaches out a royal-purple gloved hand to shake his own. 

        “Orville Straud, District Five escort - I am so pleased to make your acquaintance!” he shakes the man’s hand - firm, assertive, just as he’d practiced. Pontius looks around the room with an unreadable expression. 

        “Pontius, I assume you are familiar with my work.” Orville nods. “Good. Then you know there is no time to waste -” He points to Coulomb. “I see the boy - where is the other one?” 

        “She’s…” he pauses, stopping himself from saying something that might find its way into the tabloids later. Alara doesn’t need any more attention for… whatever she’s trying to pull with the girl. He still can’t bring himself to think about it. “I’ll fetch her, just a moment.” 

        Pontius is already having his prep team drag their bags into the room, appraising Orville’s setup as he directs the two hapless helpers behind him with a snap of his fingers. He yells back to Orville, who’s still standing by the door reeling from the arrival. “Be quick about it - we have a vision to create!”

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.”

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!”

Chapter Text

Parade Night: Voltaea

        Voltaea Amprole knows they must be close to the parade area when the roar of the crowd overtakes the th-thumping of her heartbeat in her ears. The patch Alara stuck to her back has every sense she has working on overdrive - it’s too much. Orville and Coulomb walk to her left down the corridor, chatting away about how delightful Orville thinks their outfits are and how they’re so lucky to have such a visionary stylist. Coulomb chimes in - “They’re neat, but I’m tired of walking. The backpack is so heavy!” 

        “Then you need more practice with a heavy pack. You’re going to have to carry your own gear once we’re in the arena.” Voltaea had promised the boy she’d teach him something, now seems as good a time as any. Focusing on helping Coulomb has given her racing thoughts something to latch onto, at least. 

        “Yeah, I guess so.” Coulomb claps his hands together lightly to make a small bolt of electricity jump between them, a soft crack echoes down the corridor. “Do you think we should do this the whole time we’re on the chariots, or save it for a big show at the end?” 

        Voltaea shrugs “I wouldn’t overdo it - just find the right moment.” She pauses, remembering Alara’s last lesson to pass along to him. “And don’t hesitate when you do.” 

        “I’m sure the two of you are going to be a big hit no matter what you do!” Orville chirps, sounding slightly less sickly than usual. He’s wrong, of course - They’ll need to do something spectacular to stand out above the other twenty-two tributes. “The Capitol will adore you, just be yourselves!” 

        They approach a set of doors at the end of the hallway - Orville shuffles out in front of them to fling them open. The screams and chatter of the crowd immediately assault her ears, now even stronger than it was on their way here. They’re standing under an expansive pavilion - doors with each of their District numbers line the walls on one side, the chariots are lined up on the opposite. They aren’t the first to arrive - several other tributes have broken off into small groups and are chatting away while they wait for the rest to arrive. There’s a sizable presence of Peacekeepers roaming the area - a whole mess of them are standing near the exit to the parade route to keep the crowd in the stands outside. 

        Orville turns around to face them and starts chirping again. “I’ll have to take my leave now, but don’t worry! I’ll be right there waiting to take you both back home after the parade. You’re going to do great!” 

        Voltaea nods, she can’t think of anything else to say to him - Coulomb starts to cry softly, Orville hands him a handkerchief and chides him not to ruin his makeup as he makes his exit back through the District Five door. “V, are we really gonna be okay? Do you think they’re gonna like me?” Coulomb sniffles as he speaks. 

        “We’ll be fine. Do what Orville told you - be yourself.” But what would a mentor tell him to do if he had one who worked with him? What kind of persona would fit him? “You’re good at getting people to like you, just lean into that - be friendly, wave at the crowd, smile a lot, I don’t know.” She feels herself shaking as she speaks and hopes no one has noticed yet. “I’ll be the scary one, you be the nice one - we’ll go out there as a team, okay? The crowd likes to see District unity, we’ll give them that.” Alara won’t like me helping him, she says I should ignore him. She feels her heart thundering into her throat at the thought. This is the right call, she’ll get over it. 

        “Alright, but what about the rest of them -” Coulomb gestures around to the other tributes in the staging area, Seven has just arrived through their door a few yards away. The noise of the crowd and her too-fast heartbeat make it difficult to hear what’s happening around them. “- Should we try to find some friends?”

        Voltaea shakes her head. “Not yet. We don’t know enough about the others - it’s worse to make an ally that betrays you than to have none at all. I want you to watch them - I’ll do the same. We can talk about who to approach in training tomorrow.” 

        Coulomb has managed to contain his tears, he looks a bit more focused - He works best with a plan too, I guess. “Okay. I’ll do my best!” It won’t save him in the end. Her stomach drops - chest tightens - the static rises in her ears again. She tries to dig her nails into her scar but shocks herself on the metal plating in her gloves and pulls back in surprise. The static clears. That’ll have to do.

        They cross the pavilion together to the chariot waiting for them, Voltaea’s eyes scanning the room for anything she can pick up about their competitors. Coulomb is immediately distracted by the chariot - trying to find a way to climb on without grabbing anything. Let him figure it out. Her eyes fall on a group near the back of the staging area - the twins from Eight are talking to a small group of outer-district tributes, not that she can make out what they’re saying. Maybe he can? “Coulomb, can you read lips?” She sees a small drone float into the pavilion from the back - it looks like there’s a camera attached to the bottom. They’re watching us. 

        “Kind of, why?” He’s managed to balance himself on the platform without touching anything, after some struggle. 

        “Watch that group near the back, see if you can make out anything they’re saying. I’ll keep an eye on the others.” He gives her a determined nod and turns himself so he’s leaning on the side of the chariot and has a good view of them without looking too much like he’s staring. Good instincts, buddy. 

        She sees the peacock boy from One walking from the front of the line, full of unearned confidence with a giant smirk on his face. He’s wearing one of the loudest outfits in the lineup tonight - a sparkling bodysuit, dripping with jewels - and oh gods is that a cape? Who wears a cape? Coulombs voice cuts through her focus - “I can only make out some of it, one is sayi-” 

        Voltaea cuts him off, she can’t have any distractions right now. The cacophony of the crowd is hard enough to hear through without him interrupting. “Just watch - we’ll talk about it later.” She watches as Marcelus struts by their chariot and right up to Sarah from Seven, two chariots behind them. They’re close enough that she can hear what he’s saying - He’s loud in more than just appearance. He flips his hair dramatically as he speaks in a voice that he’s clearly forcing deeper than it naturally goes. “Hey baby, are you a tree? Because you’re giving me wood.” What the hells is he thinking? What kind of line is that? Does that ever work for him? He blows a kiss in her direction. She spots the drone again, floating over their exchange. 

        Sarah, to her credit, must also think this is the stupidest thing she’s ever heard. She steps right up to his face and laughs at him - it’s so loud you can hear the sharp sound of it echoing through the pavilion. For a brief moment, the swagger seems to drain out of his body - then he shrugs, plastering that idiotic grin back across his face as he turns back towards the front of the procession. She sees some of the other tributes giggling, or shaking their heads as they stare at him. Sarah’s District partner, Bashir, gives her a quick fist bump. They’re definitely a team. 

        Marcelus spots Voltaea just as she thinks he’s going to pass them by - turning on his heels dramatically to march in her direction. Bad idea. This guy is full of bad ideas. She shoots Coulomb a quick glance - he’s still occupied watching the group near the back, as ordered. At least someone here has sense. She can hear his boots clobbering across the floor over the roaring crowd - she tenses as he closes the gap between them. 

        Marcelus, in what seems like an attempt at subtlety, leans into her ear and whispers “Are you a wire? Because I’d like to strip you and make a connection.” Something about the way he so confidently spits such bile makes her clench - he’s gone from frustrating to infuriating . Alara wouldn’t tolerate him talking to her like this, why should she let him? She feels the back of her teeth start to itch, her fingers twitching - anticipating. 

        Voltaea glares at him, tension turning to fiery rage. Her mother would have told her to take it as flattery, like she had when a man at the market had said something crass to her - It’s not like you’re a catch, Voltaea, take what you can get and be happy with it. That’s not what she wants to do. She’s not here to tell me who I am anymore. She whispers back to him - no hesitation - her voice cold, her face steel - “No, but I know lots of ways to kill a man with one. And you’re gonna be my first test subject.” 

        Marcelus goes pale, shaken-looking - he was clearly expecting to be brushed off not threatened. He whirls around in a way that his cape smacks her in the side - and then - “Try me, you frigid bitch.” Leap off the chariot, take your shirt off - hells - light a man on fire if the mood strikes you! It’s Alara’s words that interrupt her thoughts this time. Find the right moment to set off that flash of brilliance. She hears a faint, whirring buzz - the camera drone is right overhead. This is the moment - No apologies, no doubts, no hesitation. She reaches out and claps her hands over the cape, making sure the metal plates on her palms connect through the fabric. 

        Crack! A bolt of electricity flies between her palms, setting the cape ablaze in seconds. Marcelus shrieks - a mix of screams and laughter echo through the space - Oh shit, what did I do? Why did I do that?! She feels the static start to rise in her ears again, her off-beat heart th-thumping so violently she can’t think - can’t breathe. Peacekeeper boots thud across the floor - their hands on her before she has a chance to react. A group of them rip the flaming cape from Marcelus and stomp it until the fire dies - smoke chokes the air - she’s being dragged towards the chariot. 

        Two officers grab her shoulders and push her up onto the chariot platform. “Don’t you dare fucking move -” The larger officer’s voice booms in her ears - “Stay right there with your hands at your side until the parade is over or we won’t hesitate to shoot - your choice.” She steels herself - eyes forward, don’t show them your fear - just like Reaping Day. She hadn’t lit anyone on fire on Reaping Day. It’s Reaping Day with extra guns pointed at you. Calm. She takes a deep breath, but she can’t get enough air into her lungs to relax. Calm. She brushes her fingers across the metal plate in her glove again just to feel something other than fear - the pain shocks her back into focus, slightly. Collected? She looks around at the other tributes, now all being ushered onto their chariots. Sarah from Seven catches her eye, giving her a thumbs up and a wink before a Peacekeeper shoves her into position. Did I just make us a friend? 

        Coulomb pokes a finger into her side to grab her attention. His face is distraught - terrified - “V, what did you do? Why did you do that!? The Careers are going to kill you!” I might have also made some enemies. 

        She catches a glimpse of the camera drone floating out of the pavilion onto the parade route. The whole world probably saw that. A faint smirk twitches at the corner of her lips. “Maybe. But the sponsors are going to love this.” She loops an elbow around one of the handles on the chariot to steady herself - careful to avoid touching anything with her palm - Don’t want the Peacekeepers getting antsy. Coulomb, still shaking, mirrors her strategy. 

        “I still think that was crazy bu- “ Coulomb’s cut off by the sound of the anthem blaring from the overhead speakers - it drowns out everything else she can hear. The two officers by their chariot stand at attention, but they’re careful not to take their eyes off of her. She closes her eyes, draws her focus back inward - the static in her ears starts to overtake the terrible, familiar tune that plays. 

        As the song ends, a loud, booming voice cuts through the speakers and rattles her skull. She opens her eyes - showtime . “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m proud to present your tributes for the 60th Annual Hunger Games! May the odds be ever in their favor!” She hears the roar of the crowd outside swell with every word the announcer speaks. “We’re here tonight to catch our first glimpse of greatness, so without further ado, let's bring out our tributes from District One - Cymbria Vale and Marcelus Glint!” 

        Voltaea stays stoic as she watches the first chariot roll out of the staging area. From where she stands, she can see that Cymbria’s cape is still intact - she’s completely thrown off their matching outfits with her little stunt. Worth it. She can’t see what’s happening once they pull outside - but she can hear the crowd's most animated reactions getting more and more distant as they ride down the parade route. Coulomb says something to her about how big the tributes from Two are as the announcer calls their names. She doesn’t react - doesn’t move - she’s not even sure if she can at this point without inviting the attention of the trigger-happy Peacekeepers patrolling around them. 

        District Three is called - to a more muted reaction from the crowd. Neither of them look very capable at their size and their stylist has gone for a very drab sort of look. I’d like to see if they have other talents. Her heart starts racing faster and faster the closer they get to their turn - the sidelong glance she shoots at Coulomb tells her he’s feeling the nerves as well. “Remember to smile, okay? You’re the likable one.” She keeps her eyes on him long enough to see him nod. 

        “And now from District Four, please welcome Nerisse Tidewalker and Mako Drift!” These two elicit a huge roar from the crowd - their stylists have gone for a much bolder approach. Mako stands shirtless, with glimmering green shorts made to look like fish scales and carrying a blunted harpoon in one hand. Nerisse has her wavy hair dyed to look like water, and wears a sundress of a similar material to her district partner. The real draw to the look are the multi-colored holographic fish projected in front of them by the headbands they wear, making it look like they’re swimming down the parade route. She has a better view of these two as their own chariot pulls up to the front of the line. 

        “We’re next. Don’t panic.” The thought pours out of Voltaea’s mouth - she’s coaching them both through this now, not just herself. She starts to shuffle in place on the platform - the urge to move getting stronger with every passing minute. “Just keep still, smile, and wave.” 

        “And now, fresh from their shocking debut in the staging area -” She sees a camera feed projected on the banners above the crowd showing her attack on Marcelus that cuts just before the Peacekeepers intervene. “- Voltaea Amprole and Coulomb Vexel!” The banners swap to a live feed of them on the chariot as it pulls out of the pavilion. 

        It’s deafening. There’s too much screaming - too much cheering - too much color - too much static - too much everything . Voltaea clenches her jaw to keep her face in line - eyes forward - not a single glance to the crowd. I hope she’s watching, I hope I’m pulling this off, Please let me just make it through this. 

        She catches a glimpse of their chariot on the banners as they reach the halfway point - Coulomb is waving wildly to the crowd with a huge grin plastered across his face. Keep going. The incoherent calls of the Capitol citizenry crash through her over and over again. You’re almost there. 

        They pull up beside District Four as their chariot reaches the President’s mansion, the crowd blessedly behind them where their screams can’t pierce her quite so deeply. Her heart refuses to calm, there’s no pattern to anything here - it’s all chaos. She can’t stop the shaking in her extremities - can’t tell if anyone sees her weakness - can’t calm herself. 

        She shuts her eyes again and tries to drown the noise in static. It’s not enough. She tries to think louder,trying to make sense of everything. I’ve made an enemy, maybe a friend, definitely a scene. Orville will meet us after the speech, then we can go back to the tower. I can see Alara again, I can ask her if I made her proud, I can… no. It’ll all be over soon, just breathe. It’s not until she hears the distinct whine of a microphone in front of her that she opens them again.

        President Snow stands at the podium - she remembers this part from mandatory viewing, he’ll make a speech and then they’re done. She steels herself, eyes forward - trying to look like she’s listening in spite of her shattered focus. His voice is smooth, powerful - it reverberates through her bones when he speaks. “Hello - and welcome to this year’s tributes -” 

        The rest of his speech is a blur - the last remnants of coherent thought she has slip away from her. She can see his lips moving but nothing he says makes any sense at all - it’s just become part of the noise. After a few minutes, he takes a bow and ascends the stairs to the mansion. She still hasn’t moved. She’s not even sure if she’s blinked since they left the staging area. 

        Orville seems to materialize out of nowhere, chirping away, ushering them off the chariot and to a set of doors near the base of the mansion. “Chirp-chirp-chirp-chirp” Voltaea nods to him, unsure of anything he’s saying - all she can make sense of is the static in her ears and the thunder in her chest. Through the doors - down the stairs - into the tunnels once again. The Capitol loves its shortcuts. As the roar of the crowd recedes behind them she feels like she can almost breathe again. 

        Coulomb and Orville walk a few steps ahead of her - the boy is chattering excitedly, Orville chirps in reply - none of it makes sense, but she’s moving forward nonetheless. She goes to dig her nails into her palm and feels the faint shock from the metal plate ripple through her again - and rips the gloves off in response, tossing them to the side of the tunnel. She can finally calm herself properly - the sting of her scar when she does is the only relief she’s felt in hours. 

        She walks in silence the rest of the way to the tribute tower - Coulomb and Orville seem to have given up on trying to include her in the conversation, anyway. After what feels like an eternity they reach a set of elevator doors and step inside - Orville presses the button to take them back to their suite - finally . She closes her eyes to shut out the motion of the machine - too much like falling upward . The only thing she hears on the way up is the rapid th-thump th-thump of her heart - they’ve all gone blessedly quiet. 

        The suite is hardly recognizable from the chaos it was earlier. All of the styling equipment has been put away in their absence. A soft tune plays over the speakers, soothing, quiet, safe. Then she hears her - her voice a song unto itself - “There she is! My future victor returns triumphant! Voltaea darling - you’re the headline on every channel tonight!” 

        Alara steps out from behind the bar with a glass of wine in hand - still in full hair and makeup from her show but already changed into her silk bathrobe. Her stomach flips - throat tightens - nerves blaze. Alara shoots a glare at Coulomb when she notices him. “Orville, why don’t you drop the boy in his room so he can change out of that ridiculous outfit?” 

        “Of course, Alara - anything else you need tonight?” Orville motions for Coulomb to head towards the hallway. 

        “I need you to stop bothering me with questions, find something to entertain yourself with for a while.” Alara waves him off, staring daggers into the back of his head while he leaves with the boy. They’re alone in the lounge. Voltaea can taste bile on the back of her tongue - the tension in her gut worsens. 

        Alara stalks across the room to where she stands - frozen. She can hear the ragged edge of her mentor’s breathing - too close. Her voice snakes its way down Voltaea’s spine and makes her shiver. “Can I get you a glass, darling?” she swirls the wine glass in her hand. “I’d love to discuss what was going through your head when you pulled that stunt of yours.” 

        She can’t answer - her mouth won’t form the words. The churning in her gut forms itself into an aching, gnawing, heat. That sound, I can’t think - Alara raises an eyebrow at her as she speaks. “Are you listening, my sweet?” Voltaea watches her lips form around every word - oh no. “Or have your nerves gotten the better of you again?” She tries to come up with something, anything to distract herself, but the only thought that comes to mind is - Don’t hesitate. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten our conversation earlier, I’m not going to let you get away with keeping secre-” 

        Before she can finish her sentence, Voltaea grabs the back of Alara’s head - crashing their lips together before she has a chance to doubt herself.

Chapter Text

Practice - Alara

        Alara Vox has never been a patient woman, and that’s no different tonight. She’d left the Crimson Cut studio right after the President’s speech was over and filming had wrapped for the evening, even opting out of the post-filming cocktail hour Selica invited her to - “Sorry darling, but some of us have other jobs to do!” - she didn’t stick around for a response. She slips into something comfortable and pours herself a glass of wine as soon as she returns to the District Five suite. The cleaners have already come through to calm the chaos the styling team left behind - there’s nothing to do but wait. She grabs the remote from the sofa to flip through the channels for a minute - Voltaea’s little stunt with the lightning is a massive hit with the press - perfect. 

        Voltaea returns just as she pours her second glass, along with - ugh - Orville and Coulomb, chatting away between themselves. Her girl looks like she’s buzzing - twitching at the extremities, eyes glassy and darting around the room, sweat shimmering off of her forehead - Perhaps I gave you a bit too much for your first time, but gods, that performance! Alara clears her throat, sauntering out from behind the bar counter - “There she is! My future victor returns triumphant! Voltaea darling - you’re the headline on every channel tonight!” Her eyes snap to Alara, but she doesn’t say a word in response - she just stands there practically vibrating with energy. 

        Alara sends Orville off to get rid of the boy, and himself - I don’t want us disturbed this evening, darling. She watches him leave, waiting until she hears the hiss of a doorway in the hall to turn back to her girl. Voltaea hasn’t taken her eyes off of her - still hasn’t spoken either - her face is as stoic as it had been when she first saw her. Alara tenses, tries to keep herself from scowling - I don’t like you using that unreadable expression with me. She closes the gap between them in the hopes of provoking a reaction of any sort - Voltaea just shifts her gaze to follow. 

        “Can I get you a glass, darling? I’d love to discuss what was going through your head when you pulled that stunt of yours.” Nothing. No response, no motion, no change in expression - just that repetitive twitch in her girl’s fingers and that cold, distant stare. Alara tries to keep her expression casual, quizzical, in spite of her growing discomfort - “Are you listening, my sweet?” Voltaea’s gaze lowers, like she has to watch the words form on Alara’s lips to get a grip on what she’s saying - her cheeks flush, but she still doesn’t say a word. She pushes - Gods above, will you say something! - keeping her voice as level as she can “Or have your nerves gotten the better of you again?”

        Alara wracks her brain, looking for the right button to push to break that incessant, insufferable silence that’s filled the room. She can taste the tension in the air and it’s suffocating. Bile rises in her throat, her stomach has gone into full revolt - she’s not sure if it's from having too many nerves or too few answers. Answers! That’s it! “Don’t think I’ve forgotten our conversation earlier, I’m not going to let you get away with keeping secre-” 

        Voltaea grabs her before she can react - threading her fingers through Alara’s curls and pulling her into the messiest, clumsiest kiss she’s ever experienced. Their front teeth clack together - Alara bites down on her own tongue - the sweat pouring off Voltaea’s forehead drips down Alara’s face - and yet, she can’t help but feel absolutely triumphant in spite of the disastrous execution. 

        She watches her girl’s eyes go wide as the full gravity of what she’s done hits her - her hand drops to her side, releasing Alara’s hair - she pulls back. “Shit - fuck - oh gods - I’m sorry -” She watches as her girl digs her nails into her palm, tears welling up in her eyes - shaking violently. “I’m just… I’m so sorry, I’ll go -” Voltaea turns and moves to follow down the hall that the boys had left to. Alara grabs her wrist - she freezes at the contact. 

        Alara laces her voice with a tone of command “Turn around.” Voltaea doesn’t move. “That wasn’t a suggestion - You’re not running away from this. Turn around!” Her girl finally does as she’s told, turning back to face her. The poor thing looks wrecked - beat red, pupils blown, tears streaking down her cheeks as she tries to form her mouth around some kind of coherent speech. 

        “I don’t… I’m sorry, I can’t… please just let me go - I won’t bother you again - I just…” The poor thing can’t come up with anything to do but stammer uselessly at her - she bites back her irritation - Softer touch, Alara. Softer touch. 

        She lets her voice drop to almost a whisper - “I’ve told you at least three times already that I won’t permit you to apologize - you can’t afford to look weak. Now - come with me…” Voltaea stares at her, unsure and shaking. “Unless you want to have this conversation where the whole world can hear us, I suggest you listen.” Her girl’s eyes go wide - darting around the lounge as if to check that no one’s seen her lapse in judgement. Alara tugs at her wrist - she follows. 

        They walk to Alara’s suite in silence - she can feel her girl’s pulse hammering against her fingertips. She doesn’t release her grip until she’s standing in front of her four-poster bed. Alara tries to keep her own expression neutral - “Sit.” Voltaea falls backwards onto the bed - swearing softly when the heavy pack she’s wearing digs into her spine - then sits up. 

        Alara shifts in front of her - watching - her girl is nearly hyperventilating at this point, trying to avoid eye contact. She wraps her clawed fingertips around Voltaea’s chin, tilting her face upward - she shuts her eyes. Alara lets her voice drop to a low purr - “Voltaea, stop being childish and open your eyes.” She shudders, but finally meets her gaze. 

        “First of all.” She pauses, letting her mouth curl into a triumphant smirk. “I have to applaud your audacity this evening - I doubt that boy’s ego will ever recover.” Voltaea’s cheeks go scarlet. “But I am curious what prompted your… display in the lounge back there.” Voltaea tries to look away again but she digs her nails into the girl’s chin to hold her in place. “No - you’re not avoiding it this time. I’ve given you nothing but openness since we’ve met, you owe me the same.” 

        Voltaea pauses, breathing deeply. When she speaks, it’s so quiet Alara barely catches what she says - “I just… when you’re close like that - it’s all I can think about.” the tears start welling up in the corner of her eyes again. “I’m s… please don’t hate me.” 

        You’ve got her now, tread carefully. Alara keeps smirking and tilts her head questioningly “Do I look like I hate you?” 

        Her girl avoids the question, carrying on with her insecure rambling - “I didn’t mean to break your trust - I don’t want to mess this up, it's just… you’re so… I know it’s wrong, and I shouldn’t feel like this, I didn’t mean to feel like this -” 

        Alara feels her stomach drop - the sickly taste of sentiment creeps onto the back of her tongue - the girl in front of her has never reminded her so much of herself. The shame, the confusion, the feeling like you’re built wrong for the world - they’re all too familiar . It’s cruel how they treat girls who love differently, darling. You’ll have none of that from me. She releases her grip on her girl’s jaw, instead sliding her hand to cup the side of her face more gently. “You’ve done nothing to offend me, if that’s your concern.” If anything, you've made my job much easier.

        Voltaea furrows her brow, she sounds more confused now than panicked, at least - “You’re not mad, then?” 

        “No darling, I’m not angry with you.” Alara uses her other hand to smooth her girl’s hair back - it’s started to collapse out of the updo they put her in. “But, to be honest - you need practice. That kiss was all teeth. Here, I’ll show you -” 

        “I… wait, wha-” Alara cuts her off, leaning forward and planting a kiss of her own - softly, this time. Voltaea stiffens - almost frozen - then wraps her arms around Alara’s shoulders and melts into the moment. She lets her own lips part slightly -  Voltaea follows her lead - good girl. She adds a gentle suction to her girl’s lower lip, savoring the shiver it sends through her spine when she does. Perfect. 

        Alara pulls back - breaking the kiss just as she feels the heat rising in her own core - Nearly got carried away, there. Let her take the lead again. Voltaea is breathless, flushed, shaking - she lets her arms drop to her sides.  “That was much better, darling.” Alara slides onto the bed next to her as she speaks - her girl can’t keep her eyes off of her now. She’s still wearing that absurd outfit - “Why don’t you go change? We can talk after, if you’d like.” 

        “I… ah… can I borrow something? I don’t know where any of my stuff is.” Alara nods. Voltaea stands in spite of her shaking legs - sparing a last look at her before half-stumbling to the bathroom. 

        Once she’s occupied, Alara rolls into a more comfortable position on the bed - propping herself up with a pile of pillows. She fumbles for the remote and flips to her recordings of the Crimson Cut, playing the episode they’d shot earlier - I do look good tonight, don’t I? 

        Voltaea returns after a few minutes, wearing the same robe she’d had on earlier - hair down, still half-caked in whatever makeup she hadn’t sweat off, looking panicked. Alara motions for her to come here, but she ignores her - beelining for the coffee table and swiping something off the surface. She reaches up to clasp it around her neck, breathing a sigh of relief. Ugh. That ugly fucking necklace - we’ll have to do something about that later. 

          She shuffles over to the bed and perches herself at the end, spinning around to sit cross-legged facing Alara. “I left the clothes on the floor, I wasn’t sure where to put them.” Her eyes shift nervously around the room. 

        “Nevermind that, the cleaners will take care of it in the morning.” Alara waves a hand dismissively. “Come a bit closer, darling - I’ll take that patch off of you.” She pats the bed beside her - Voltaea takes a moment to steel herself before sliding over. Alara reaches over her girl’s shoulder to pull the stimulant patch off of her back, balling it up in her fingers and tossing it behind the bed. “There - better?” 

        “I still feel jittery” Voltaea’s voice is shaky - unsure. 

        “That’ll pass. Here - make yourself comfortable.” She shifts some of the pillows behind her girl to make a seat. “I was just watching a recap of your grand entrance.” She feels her heartbeat jump into her throat when Voltaea leans back into the space next to her.

        Selica is chattering away on-screen about the sorry state of the District Twelve outfits, Alara is careful to keep her attention there rather than on the rising tension between the two of them - Your move, darling. 

        They watch in silence until the twins pop up on the feed, Ismene drawling on about how gorgeous they look.  Voltaea pipes up softly when she sees them - “They were talking to the tributes from some of the outer districts - I had Coulomb try to read their lips.” 

        Alara can’t hide the surprise on her face. It’s not quite how she expected her girl to break the silence - “Really? So you’ve found an actual use for the little weakling?” Voltaea flinches at the word weakling . She rolls her eyes - “Don’t go getting soft on me, you know you’re not here to make friends.” 

        “Yeah, I… I know. But if he has something to contribute -” She pauses, looking for the right words. “Allies are part of the game, aren’t they? It can’t hurt to have at least a few.” 

        Alara shrugs. “Fair enough, it could help your chances - if they’re useful.” She taps her fingernails against the silk sheets to distract from the gnawing feeling in her chest. “Do you have any others in mind, or just the boy?” 

        Voltaea points to the screen - Marcelus is approaching the girl from Seven with that idiotic grin on his face. “Her. She seemed impressed with me at the parade.” Alara scowls as the girl flips her hair back - Do you really think she’s useful or do you just think she’s nice to look at? 

        She keeps her words more neutral, no need to let the girl know she’s feeling territorial. “I suppose you can bond over your mutual disgust with the peacock boy, if nothing else. Though I can’t tell if she’ll be of any use from what I’ve seen so far.”

        Voltaea opens her mouth to say something but stops when she sees herself on camera - leaning forward to get a better look. She flushes a deep red when she hears Alara refer to her as her future victor . “You talked about me?” 

        “Of course darling - why wouldn’t I?” her girl doesn’t answer - attention rapt as she sees Marcelus approach to whisper in her ear.  “I’m curious - what did he say to get you so worked up?” 

        “I mean - nothing worse than what he said to Sarah.” She watches as Voltaea digs her nails into her scar in anticipation of what comes next. The screen lights up with a flash, smoke pouring off the boy’s cape. A tone of panic creeps into her voice “I don’t know what I was thinking - the career’s are going to kill me for that!” 

        Alara grabs her hand, pulling her fingertips from her palm before she can draw blood. “Calm yourself, my sweet. The boy is not going to be making any friends among his peers behaving like that. And besides -” She gestures to herself on screen - her other self manic with excitement. “We’ve made such an impression! The audience is going to be fascinated by you - I know I am.” 

        Voltaea watches as the televised version of Alara yells over her co-hosts, putting out a call to the sponsors before the feed cuts to commercial. Alara looks over and sees a small smile forming at the corner of her girl’s lips. “You were that impressed with me?” 

        Alara leans over, resting her head on her girl’s shoulder - “How many times do I have to tell you, Voltaea? You’re perfect.” 

        Voltaea sighs, relaxing into the pile of pillows behind her. They stay like this for a few minutes in silence, before she finally works up the courage to speak. “Can we talk about what happened now? With us, I mean.” There it is. 

        “Of course - what about it?” Alara is careful to keep her tone measured.

        “I’ve never kissed anyone before.” Voltaea shifts uncomfortably, averting her gaze. 

        Alara chuckles, teasingly - “That much was obvious.” 

        “I just… I feel… shit.” She takes a deep breath, trying to find the right thing to say. “You have this effect on me that I can’t explain.” 

        Alara sits up, tilting her girl’s head towards her so she has to meet her eyes again. “It’s perfectly natural to feel flustered around someone you’re attracted to, Voltaea.” 

        Voltaea flinches like she’s been slapped. Her speech start to flow in rapid succession “But you’re a woman - And you’re famous - And you’re so much older -” 

        Alara cuts her off with a single finger pressed to her lips - shhhh . “ Don’t call me old, darling.” Voltaea nods, averting her gaze again. “As for the rest, you’re not just some District nobody anymore - the rules are different in the Capitol. Most people here couldn’t care less if you have an inclination for the fairer sex -” 

        Voltaea burns scarlet, shaking her head in denial - “I don't -” 

        Alara doesn’t let her finish, her voice firm - “ Don’t lie to me - I have a sense for these sorts of things.” You’ve made it painfully obvious to anyone with eyes where your attractions lie. She thinks better of mentioning that - it wouldn’t suit her plans for the two of them if the girl stops pining so publicly. 

        Voltaea shrinks back into the pillows like she’s trying to disappear - covering her face with her hands. “I’ve never told anyone about this. I mean… my mother suspected - she asked about it once. I lied then, too.” 

        Her words hit Alara like a punch to the chest - of course Teslene would suspect you. Poor girl - you're terrible at hiding it . She’d sniffed out Alara’s own proclivities when they were still young and tormented her about it for years . She tries to hide the pain on her face - “That was probably wise - your mother can be… vicious about that sort of thing.” 

        Voltaea moves her hands from her face - giving her a wide-eyed look - “Wait, do you… um…” 

        “Prefer the company of women?” Alara can’t help but laugh when she sees her girl flush at the suggestion. “Obviously.” 

        “Huh.” Voltaea rolls onto her side and props herself up on the pillows to look at her again. “Can I ask you something?” 

        Alara raises an eyebrow at her - “I thought that was the entire purpose of this conversation.” 

        “I told you why I… um… did that - but why did you?” Oh, you poor girl - you’re just picking up on this now, aren’t you?

        Alara shifts to her side to face her - not bothering to correct her robe as it slides off her shoulder. She cups the side of Voltaea’s face with her hand - no claws, just softness. Her voice is soft, suggestive, leading - “Why do you think?” 

        Voltaea doesn’t answer - she just leans into the touch of Alara’s hand on her cheek and closes her eyes, breathing a sigh of relief. “Can I stay here? I don’t want to wake up alone again.” Alara’s heart skips - fluttering into her throat - You have quite the effect on me too, you know. 

        She leans forward, planting a soft kiss on Voltaea’s forehead - lingering for a moment to savor the sheer warmth of the girl’s presence. “I already told you on the train, darling - I’ll never let you feel alone again.”

Chapter Text

Comfort? - Voltaea 

        Voltaea Amprole finally understands what comfort feels like - maybe for the first time in her life - her thoughts are too scattered for her to be certain of anything right now. Alara’s bed is massive - softer than anything she’s ever laid on. The robe she’s claimed as her own feels nice - but it’s nothing compared to engulfing herself in silk sheets, downy pillows, and the soothing heat of her mentor’s presence. The rhythm of the room is a comfort, too - the rustling of silk-on-silk, the soft chatter from Alara’s recordings of her show playing on low volume, the slowly receding thunder of her pulse. 

        She asks if she can stay, still trying to fight back the impulsive edge the stimulants seem to give her to no avail - leaning into the comfort of the hand on her cheek. The words just fall out of her, thoughts lagging far behind - “I don’t want to wake up alone again.” For a moment, she regrets it - a sharp pang grips her chest.

        Any lasting regret she has melts away as Alara’s lips press against her forehead, her whispered promise wrapping her in a warmth she’s never felt before - “I already told you on the train, darling - I’ll never let you feel alone again.” 

        She opens her eyes then, snaking an arm around Alara’s shoulders to pull herself closer, burying her face in the silk of her mentor’s robe as she mutters a weak “Thank you.” A voice at the back of her mind whispers that she’s wrong to embrace this - to lose herself so completely in this woman’s presence - she drowns the thought in the scent of cherry, rose, and cigarette smoke wafting off of Alara’s skin. 

        Alara runs her fingers through Voltaea’s hair, the scrape of nails across her scalp sends a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Shall I grab us a nightcap?” A knot forms in her stomach - the memory of the last time she’d had a drink and made herself look foolish is still fresh. Bad idea - don’t mess up whatever you have going here. Alara traces her fingertips down the side of Voltaea’s neck, pressing them lightly against her pulse point. “Your heartbeat is still going wild, darling - it might help you unwind a bit.” 

        Something in the way Alara says it - a soft touch, a kind word, the concern in her eyes - Maybe it’ll be okay this time? It’s not like I can embarrass myself any worse today. She shoves her doubts back into the far corner of her mind - “Okay, but nothing too strong this time.” 

        Her mentor plants a kiss on her cheek - every nerve in her body flares in response - “Wait here, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Voltaea fights the urge to cling to the warmth of her when she moves off the bed - Don’t be needy, she’s coming right back. She pulls the sheets up over her instead - the sleek feeling of silk-on-skin is still a comfort she can control.

        Alara opens the door - the faint hiss of mechanics is a sound she’s gotten used to here. She spots the television remote on the bedside table and rolls over to grab it - backing out of tonight’s show and flipping back through an extensive list of older broadcasts that Alara seems to have recorded. Hundreds of shows, hundreds of nights - she finally lands on one from last year’s tribute parade. 

        The opening is different - they’ve changed the theme music and the set from last year to this one - but the three women on screen are sat in the same positions as they are now. Alara has extensive bags under her eyes - she’s smoking a cigarette so quickly that a lit ash falls onto the table in front of her, extinguished by a stagehand before it becomes a full-blown fire. She snaps at him to stop ruining her camera angle - Selica pipes up to remind her they’re live. She seems upset about something.

        It doesn’t take her long to realize why when she sees the tributes from Five - both very young, terrified-looking, clinging to each other as they board the chariot - they were weak contenders. She hates that . Voltaea didn’t know either of them, and with her coma after the accident last year’s games were out of sight, out of mind. Selica and Ismene exchange words about how lovely their outfits are - Alara snaps - “Great! So they’ll die beautiful. There’s hardly any point in covering these two, can we move along?” It’s the same way she talks about Coulomb. 

        Part of her wants to hate that - a small voice nags at the back of her mind that what she’s seeing is cruel, dismissive - like she’s abandoned her duty to protect these two. But another part of her - a darker voice, becoming louder by the minute - that tells her she’s broken through that cruelty by being different - better - I am something special to her, then. 

        The door hisses as it slides open again. Alara slips into the room holding two glasses full of purplish liquid, and elbows the button to shut it behind her. She stops halfway to the bed as her televised counterpart cackles performatively at something Selica had said. Her face contorts, a look of pain flashing across it before she smooths herself back into composure - “Gods, I was a disaster last year. Not an ounce of gamesmanship in either of the two they sent me - did you know that boy died twelve seconds after the countdown ended?”

        That had to be some kind of record - she wasn’t sure - most of her studying had focused on the tributes who won, not who died. “No - I was in a coma, I didn’t watch last year.” 

        Alara turns to look at her, head cocked to the side - a smirk creeps across her face - “And yet, here you are - a hundred times the contender in spite of it all.” Voltaea feels a burning shock creep into her cheeks again. Alara slides onto the bed next to her, handing her a glass. “We’ll toast to that.” She brings her glass up to Voltaea’s clinking them together before downing half of it. 

        Voltaea smells the purple liquid - it’s sweet, less rotten than the last wine she’d had, but not a scent she can identify. “What is this? It doesn’t smell like wine.” 

        “That’s because it’s a plum liqueur - try some. If you don’t like it I can always grab something else.” Voltaea takes a tentative sip - it burns its way down her throat, but the taste isn’t bad by any means. She doesn’t gag this time, at least. 

        “It’s actually pretty g-” She coughs as the burn hits her stomach. “Good. Kinda burns, though. Is that normal?”

        “You get used to it.” Alara drains the rest of her glass and leans back into the pile of pillows - setting it down with a soft clack on the nightstand. Voltaea tries to do the same, but the burning sensation in her throat nearly makes her cough again. “Darling, you don’t have to keep up on my account - I’ve had a bit more practice.” 

        The heat building in her stomach seems to spread slowly to her extremities - she puts her own glass down and rests her head on Alara’s shoulder. “Can I ask another question?”

        “Alright, but this has to be the last one - I think you’ve just about exhausted my patience for questions tonight, my sweet.” Alara wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer, Voltaea shifts to her side, wrapping one of her legs over Alara’s own. 

        “Earlier, you were talking about my um… my mother’s brother. What did he do to make you so angry?” She feels Alara’s grip tighten, the tremor rising in her hand - her whole body stiffens. “I mean… you told me you’d tell me once I told you what was bothering me, and I did that, right?”

        Alara shifts, reaching for her nightstand and grabbing a pack of cigarettes from the drawer. She lights one, taking a long pull and letting the smoke pour out her nose and making an awful noise in response. “If you really must know, I’ll tell you. I suppose I shouldn’t start breaking my promises now, after all that’s happened tonight.” She flushes - Alara lets a light tone of teasing creep into her voice - “But if you tell anyone I got emotional, I’ll have to kill you myself.”  

        It’s not a real threat - at least, I don’t think it is - but the shaking in Alara’s hand and the tension in her grip is enough to know this bothers her. “I won't - I promise.” She wraps an arm over her mentor’s chest and squeezes. “You don’t have to be alone either.” 

        The silence before Alara speaks again is deafening - cigarette smoke swirls around her head like a smog cloud - there’s a sharp cough, and then - “It started when we were in school together. Teslene had somehow discovered a brief tryst I had over summer break with a local girl - I can’t even remember her name now, not that it matters. The rumors she started in the wake of that were the part that stuck with me…” 

        “She can be awful…” Voltaea doesn’t have to stretch her imagination much for this, she’s experienced that coldness first-hand her whole life - her teeth clench. I’m sorry for her.

        “Don’t interrupt, darling - But yes, awful might even be an understatement. That woman made me a pariah among our peers.” Alara stubs her cigarette out at the bottom of her empty glass. “Tesla started following me after school, then. At first, it was just to shout obscenities after me with a group of his friends - but they bored much quicker than he did. The boy was nothing if not persistent.” 

        Voltaea watches as her mentor shifts her hand to her own upper thigh, digging her shaking claws into the soft flesh of them hard enough to leave welts. “One day he managed to catch up to me - I was usually quite adept at sneaking off before he could get too close. But he cornered me behind an old tenement block in the coal burning sector. Said he was going to ‘fix me’ - that I was only the way I was because I hadn’t had a real man like him - and… well…” Her voice trails off. Oh. The realization of what Alara is implying hits her like a loaded freight train - her stomach threatens to unload itself but she chokes back the bile. 

        She looks up and notices the tears streaking down Alara’s cheeks - taking the remains of her eyeliner with them. Voltaea reaches up - wiping them away with the corner of her sleeve. “You don’t have to say any more. I… get the picture.” Alara’s emerald gaze shifts to her, head tilting to the side - her expression is pain and surprise in equal measure. It’s the only vulnerability she’s ever seen on the usually confident woman’s face. Voltaea tries to find the right words - to say something, anything that might stop the choked sniffling from above her. All she can think of is - “For what it’s worth, I would have killed him too.” 

        There’s a brief silence that Alara breaks with a sharp, choked laugh - “You know, given your treatment of that pompous ass at the parade - I believe that.” She wipes the rest of her tears with her own robe, makeup still streaked across her face. “Gods, I must be a mess right now - it’s been a long time since I’ve spoken about my time back home.” Her voice is hoarse, but still has that hint of music to it that makes Voltaea’s heart race. 

        “It's… a nice mess to look at.” That was stupid, why did I say that? 

        Alara laughs again, less tearfully this time - “Let’s add how to give a proper compliment to the list of things you need to practice, shall we?” She runs her fingers through Voltaea’s hair, brushing it behind her ear. “Though I appreciate the effort, darling. It was an admirable attempt at sweetness.” She watches the tremor in her mentor’s hand recede as they relax into each other’s presence - silent except for the sounds of the room around them. Whatever she drank earlier seems to be fogging up the corners of her thoughts - the feeling is warm - calming, even. I don’t ever want to move from this spot. 

        It’s a nice thought - suddenly interrupted by the ear-splitting ring of a phone nearby. “Oh for fucks sake - who calls at this hour?” Alara mutters as she shifts to her side to grab the receiver. “This had better be important -” 

        A slurred voice booms from the speakers - Alara pulls it back from her ear - “Alara dear, you missed sooooooo much delicious drama this evening! I simply couldn’t wait to catch you up -” That voice sounds familiar, I can’t place it.

        Voltaea pipes up without thinking - “Who is that?” Alara shoots her a glare, putting a finger to her lips to silently shush her. It’s too late - the voice on the other end of the line seems to have heard. Whoops.

        “OH! You have a guest - in your private suite no less? Tell me everything - gods! You’re full of surprises this year aren’t you?” Alara lets out a heavy sigh, rolling her eyes. Voltaea tries not to look too much like she's eavesdropping - but she can't help herself.

        “Selica, darling, you’re clearly very drunk right now - perhaps you’re hearing things? We can discuss your drama in the morning, I’m quite tired -” THAT'S who it is! Her accent is so different than it is on TV. 

        “Oh no no, you’re not getting off that easily - this is the development of the decade! In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you allow a woman into your own be-” Alara hangs up before Selica can finish her sentence. Voltaea feels like she’s sinking into the silk sheets - she starts giggling against her better judgement. 

        “Voltaea -” Alara’s voice has a sharpness to it that snaps her out of her stupor. “Consider yourself lucky that woman is too drunk to remember our conversation -” She leans over, letting her lips brush across Voltaea’s ear, and whispers “- unless you’re feeling eager to reveal the nature of our relationship to the entire Capitol gossip circuit, it’s probably wise to exercise some subtlety from now on.” Oh shit. 

        “I’m s-” she cuts herself off - No apologizing. “You’re right. That would be…” her thoughts are starting to swirl incoherently - Words are hard. All she can focus on is the softness of Alara’s breath in her ear, snaking down her spine and lighting off sparks in her stomach - “Wait, what IS the nature of our relationship?” 

        Alara pulls back slightly, a sly smirk on her lips. “I thought I told you we were done with questions tonight.” She cups a hand around Voltaea’s jaw and pulls her upward into a kiss that shatters every remaining thought in her mind at once. 

        Her body seems to respond on instinct - she wraps an arm around Alara and laces her fingers through her curls, pulling her tighter - closer. Her heartbeat th-thumps violently against her ribs, mixing with the ragged rhythm of her breathing. Her gut feels like it’s on fire - the feeling creeps lower - she lets out a faint, whining noise against her mentor’s lips without thinking. Shit. Summoning a last bit of sense, she releases her grip on Alara’s hair and pulls back before she can embarrass herself further. She tries to catch her breath, to stammer out something that sounds like a sensible explanation for her sudden outburst - “I… ah…” 

        Alara still wears a devious grin on her face - she shifts her grip from Voltaea’s jaw to the back of her head, and tilts it to the side. “What…” she doesn’t have time to finish her question before Alara leans in and plants a kiss on the side of her neck that elicits another strange noise from her throat - deeper - more guttural this time. She tries to clap a hand over her mouth but Alara catches it with her free one and pins it back against the pillow. Fuck, she’s fast.  

        “Darling, I thought we were past all this insecurity?” Alara purrs against her throat - she can feel the smile on her face as she speaks - her own burns in response. It’s… too much. She gasps as Alara starts running up the length of her neck with her tongue - her breath runs ragged - static starts to buzz in her ears again. When her mentor reaches her earlobe, she bites down - not hard - it still makes her swear. An unfamiliar heat builds between her legs and she clamps them together to try and chase it off - Shit, I’m sweating, please don’t notice.

        Alara releases her ear - pulling back slightly - just enough that she can still feel every breath. She lets out a smoky, songlike whisper - “There. Does that answer your question?” Voltaea nods weakly - words completely lost to the moment. Alara turns away and adjusts the pillows on the bed behind her so she can lie down, leaving Voltaea breathless. “Lean forward, I’ll fix yours while I’m at it.” 

        Voltaea slumps forward, burying her face into the sheets in front of her until she feels a hand on her shoulder guiding her backward into the pillows. She’s shaking - exhausted, probably - she rolls onto her side and pulls a mass of sheets up over her head in a half-hearted attempt to hide the look of embarrassment still plastered across her face. Alara pulls it down almost immediately and plants a soft kiss on her forehead - “If you want to stay, you have to stop with the theatrics.” her tone is teasing, but there’s an edge of seriousness to it. “You haven’t done anything worth feeling this much shame about, my sweet.” 

        She still can’t bring herself to speak - instead opting to curl herself into the space at Alara’s side and giving her a small nod. “ Good girl. ” Those two words coil themselves around her core and drag her even closer - she wraps herself around the other woman like a snake. 

        Voltaea tries to cling to a cohesive thought - everything is too heavy - too full of static to make sense of. Alara scratches at her scalp and she feels herself sink further into the bed - Calm. The distant voices on the television make up a pleasant enough chorus to lean into when combined with the sound of Alara’s breathing. Collected. She’s more exhausted than she realized - the pull of sleep takes her under before she has a chance to finish the mantra. 

Chapter Text

Stagecraft - Alara

       “Darling, are you asleep?” Alara Vox doesn’t feel her girl so much as shift when she speaks - and she would feel it with the way Voltaea is wrapped around her. Like you want to hold me in place forever. She reaches a hand tentatively towards the leg her girl has flung across her lap and shifts it off - Voltaea doesn’t move - thank the gods. The sedatives she slipped into her drink should in theory keep her out cold for a while, but you can never be too sure. Tonight couldn’t be going more her way - every seed she’s planted since they met seem to be blooming all at once. The only thing that hadn’t gone quite to plan was her little venture into her own past. It’s not something she’d wanted to dredge up by any means - but it doesn’t seem to have deterred her girl from clinging to her. If anything, she’d wanted to be even closer by exposing the rawest parts of herself for the first time in years. It’s… an unfamiliar feeling, being seen in that state and still feeling something like acceptance at the other side. She plants a kiss on her girl’s forehead - a moment of softness before she has to start her work for the night. Sorry, my sweet, but I have to seize this narrative before someone else does. 

       She slides off the edge of the bed in silence - Voltaea mumbles something in her sleep, but doesn’t wake. Alara steals a last look at her - her heart races when she sees the poor thing has rolled partway out of her robe. She’s tempted for a moment to wake her and finish what she had started earlier - Calm yourself, that would defeat the purpose of leaving her wanting. She slips out of the room and shuts the door behind her, stalking down the hall as quietly as she can manage until she reaches the entrance to the elevator - the whole floor must be out cold by now. Well, save for the avox standing in the lounge - but he doesn’t so much as acknowledge her presence. Even if he did - it’s not like he’s much of a witness without a tongue to flap. 

       The elevator lets her off at the studio floor - it’s all lit by dim, yellowish lights at this hour - much kinder on the eyes than the bright overheads they use during filming. She pushes her way through the doors to the Crimson Cut studio and is greeted by the sight of Ismene fucking Lux passed out on the central sofa in complete disarray - dark makeup streaked down her face, hair tangled like she’s been standing in the wind all night. Too drunk to make it back to her own suite, of course. There’s several half-finished cocktails spread across the coffee table - clearly the cleaners haven’t made it in yet. The place reeks of stale liquor and desperation. 

       Ismene is chillingly still - corpse-like. Of course they’d leave me this mess to deal with. She watches for a moment to see if she can track the rise and fall of the woman’s chest - she can’t tell if she’s even breathing from this distance. Fuck me. Alara sneaks to her side and holds out a hand a few inches in front of her mouth - alright, still breathing at least. As she turns away she rams her shin into the coffee table and swears - loudly. 

       “Hmm- oh! Alaraaa, what a surprise!” Ismene’s slurred drawl cuts through the silence. Alara tenses - This is exactly the punishment I’d invite on myself by checking if she’s alive, why do I bother? “You’re veeeerry late for the party.” She turns around to see the half-dead looking woman trying to prop herself up on the couch to no avail. “Do you - have a bucket handy?” Sigh . Alara sprints to the buffet table near the front entrance and grabs one of the buckets they keep under it for overindulging guests - thrusting it in front of the woman’s face just in time - she retches the last of her stomach contents into it. Alara carefully arranges the bucket on the ground next to the couch when the stream subsides. I really should get an award for my charity.

       Alara charges her voice with as much command as she can muster at this hour - “Ismene, you’re a mess.” She crosses her arms across her chest, tapping her nails against her robe. “Clean yourself up and go upstairs before someone with less patience comes looking for you.” And get out of my hair, I have business to attend to. 

       “Mmmmhm…” Ismene glances at the clock on the wall behind her, squinting like she's trying to bring the world back into focus. She looks back at Alara with an amused smirk. “Not ‘till you tell me why you’re here at this hour.” Great. 

       Alara averts her eyes - the way that woman stares right through her sometimes is unnerving. Ismene has always been a bit too astute with social cues for her taste, even in her drunken state. “I was taking a walk.” 

       She laughs - “You’re a bad liar.” 

       Alara scoffs - “And you’re a sloppy drunk.”

       “You were ‘too busy’ for cocktails but not to sneak back in the dead of night - and you’re acting shifty. I have to ask.” Ismene pulls herself upright and flips her hair back out of her face. Alara scowls at her. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll tell Selica you came down to steal her morphling stash.” That makes her blood run cold - it’s not teasing, it’s a threat . The last time Selica caught someone stealing her morphling she’d poisoned him - not enough to kill him, but enough to cause permanent brain damage. It’s not something she’d like to invite upon herself - But what a way to call off an engagement. 

       “That’s a low blow - you know very well I only touch that garbage once a year -” Ismene shrugs at her. Calm down, let her have this one. Maybe she can be of use. “Ugh. Fine. Stand up, you can help me look for them.” Alara reaches out a hand to pull her up off the couch and they nearly stumble backwards into the table together. Ismene manages to right herself just in time. 

       “What are we looking for? I loooove a scavenger hunt.” She’s still slurring her words, but there’s an edge of excitement to them now. You love drama, is more like it. 

       “You know those tiny cameras - the ones we used to capture that sponsor dinner debacle last year?” Ismene nods, leaning on Alara for balance as they walk towards the supply room at the back of the studio. “I need to borrow one. Well, at least one - preferably several.” 

       “Ooooh - who are we spying on? Is it someone fun, at least?” Alara rolls her eyes, then punches in the door code. 

       “ We aren’t spying on anyone - I am working on something private. ” Ismene gives her a melodramatic pout in response. The supply room is packed with equipment, half of which she can’t identify - all of which seems to be thrown haphazardly wherever it fits. “Fuck - it’s going to take me hours to sort through this! Who organized this place?!”

       “Hmmm…” Ismene still has that stupid smirk plastered across her face. “Perhaps if you were more forthcoming, I could tell you where they are.” 

       It takes every ounce of restraint Alara has left not to slap the smirk off her face. “Ismene - I just rescued you from a complete drunken disaster. Consider this payment.” 

       She shakes her head - “I take payment in information, you know that.” Alara does know that - and she hates it. 

       How to phrase this? She’ll smell a lie, but I can’t give her the whole truth. “I don’t want to bore you with all the details, but there’s this… woman… who I have an interest in -” Ismene cuts her off, releasing her grip on Alara to clap her hands together excitedly. She nearly falls into a rack of sound equipment but catches herself on the wall behind her. 

       “Why didn’t you just say so! I do love a love story - so you’re spying romantically then?” Ismene gasps, clasping a hand to her face. “Do you think she’s seeing someone else?” Idiot.

       “No, I’m putting the cameras in my own quarters -” She tries to keep the frustration out of her words - Ismene cuts her off again.

       “HA! So you’re making a sex tape? I didn’t know you had it in you!” She’s tempted to knock Ismene out for that one. Nothing so crass! I’m crafting a tasteful scandal - thank you - NOT pornography. A more thoughtful part of her intervenes - But… if that’ll get you on board… 

       Alara shrugs, then nods after a calculated pause for effect. Embarrassing, but necessary - The smile on Ismene’s face tells her she’s succeeded in sating her nosiness for now. “Look, I’ve explained enough. Are you going to help me find the cameras or not?” 

       Ismene latches herself back onto Alara for balance - “This way -” She drags her to a set of drawers at the far end of the room - running her fingers across the handles - she stops “They’re in this one. It has a chip on the handle.” I sometimes forget there’s a brain swimming in that wine-soaked skull of hers.

       Alara opens the drawer - there’s an entire collection of the cameras inside, she slips three into the pocket of her robe. “Should I ask how you know about these?”

       “I stole one to spy on my escort - I thought she’d been watering down my wine.” The two make their way back to the main studio floor. 

       “Was she? I’d have to have Orville killed if he touched my supply.” Alara drags her towards the elevator.  

       “No - but I did catch her in a very intimate state with a styling assistant near the bar. I’ve yet to bring the footage to Selica, but it should make for a good show next time we have a slow news day.” The elevator is still on the studio floor - no one else seems to be moving around tonight. Alara opens the doors and drags Ismene in with her, pushing the numbers for both their floors. “I should probably thank you for the rescue - I suppose I owe you one now.” More like several. 

       “If you never speak of tonight again - to anyone - I’ll consider the debt paid.” The elevator lurches upward and Alara has to lean the two of them against the wall to keep upright. 

       Ismene raises a hand to her heart dramatically “On my honor, I promise - it stays with us.” Alara sighs - not how I thought this adventure would go, but not a complete failure. As frivolous and weepy and self-serving as Ismene can be, she’s never actually betrayed Alara’s trust. At least, not after making a promise. 

       They ride the rest of the way to the District Five floor in silence. When the doors open, Alara helps her co-host lean into the corner to support herself - “Just stay there, it’s only three floors up - I’m sure you’ll manage.” She steps through the door. 

       “I’ll see you tomorrow - bright and early!” Ismene winks at her as the doors clamp shut and the elevator rushes off once more. Gods help me, I think I might be going soft. The District Five suite is still blessedly silent - she glances down the hallway just to make sure Orville isn’t lurking somewhere trying to get an early start on the day. Nothing - no disturbances - perfect .

       Alara heads to her private quarters, sneaking back through the door. Voltaea is still asleep - she’s shifted herself in bed so that she’s wrapped around one of the large pillows in the way she was Alara earlier. Aren’t you sweet, you missed my presence that much? She sees a datapad on the coffee table and grabs it to pair with the cameras. It takes her several minutes to figure out how that works, but she manages to get all three recording clearly. 

       The first goes right above the door - a high-angle view of the whole suite. She has to balance on her makeup stool to get the height she needs to plant it, but it provides just the right amount of distance for the tasteful sort of shot she’s imagining. 

       The second goes underneath the television, angled at the couch - no struggling with height here, but she has to fiddle with it to get the angle she wants without the tiny lens reflecting the lights and ruining the shot. 

       Alara makes her way to the bed, climbing up carefully to avoid waking her girl. Voltaea stirs slightly, muttering something under her breath again - What are you saying, darling? I’ll have to listen more closely next time. She adheres the camera to one of the bedposts - so long as she keeps the drapes open, it provides a perfect view of the whole space. She double-checks her work from the datapad - every important angle in the room is covered in detail, she won’t miss a thing. I’m sure you’ll give us the perfect opportunity to break ratings records with the way you’ve been behaving. 

       She steps off the bed, stashing the datapad in the top of her dresser next to her box of recreational substances - not really hidden , but out of sight enough that her girl probably won’t stumble across it. The tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying melts off of her like hot wax - the satisfaction of a victory - mission accomplished.  

       Alara takes the remaining spiked liquor from the nightstand and drains the rest herself - hoping the dose of sedatives is enough to drag her under. She slips into the bed, sliding herself into position next to Voltaea. In spite of the drugs - or perhaps because of them - her girl sleeps peacefully, blissfully unaware of all Alara has done tonight in the name of protecting her. She wraps herself over Voltaea, pulling her close - she stirs slightly, muttering. This time, she’s close enough to hear her clearly - “Alara…” - her own heart screams in response. She brushes her girl’s hair back out of her face to get a proper look at her, a smile playing at the corner of her lips - Do you dream of me now, darling? 

       She plants a soft kiss on Voltaea’s cheek and nestles her head into the pillows next to her. Her eyes flutter shut as her mind melts into a sedative haze. Alara savors the sensation of soft skin against her fingertips and silk sheets around her legs. The pillows smell like rose - the girl like sweat and perfumed desperation. It should overwhelm her, but it just feels… like home. I finally have someone that’s mine. It’s the last thought that comes to her before sleep overtakes consciousness. 

       The morning comes too quickly - it always does, doesn’t it? She wakes to the phone ringing by her bedside. Still struggling to break the grip of sleep, she pushes herself upright and grabs it from its holder. Her head throbs with each word she speaks - “You’ve reached Alara, I hope this is good news.” 

       It’s Orville on the other end - pure panic overtaking his normal composure - “Yes, ah. Well, how to put this -” 

       Alara sighs, frustrated - “Spit it out, I have too much to do today.” 

       “The girl isn’t in her room, I think... I think I’ve lost her! I don’t know where she could be, I didn’t see her leave the suite at all and I -” Alara cuts off his rambling. 

       Idiot. “She’s in here. With me.” 

       There’s a pause on the other end of the line - “Oh. Ah…” Orville stammers for a moment, like he’s too stunned to say anything productive, then - “Could you pass along that I have her uniform for training today? And that breakfast will be served in thirty minutes.” 

       “Bring the clothes, we’ll be out for breakfast after she changes.” Alara hangs up, tossing the receiver back onto the charger. When she turns, Voltaea has rolled herself over to look at her - her steel-blue eyes glassy and bloodshot, hair tangled, her robe threatening to unravel in the front. She can’t help but smile - it’s precious - the way her girl is so comfortable in her own chaos around Alara. 

       “Good morning.” Voltaea’s voice is barely above a whisper, hoarse with sleep. Alara runs her nails through her hair - she sighs, leaning into the contact - “My head hurts. Do we have to get up?” 

       Alara leans in and plants a kiss on her forehead - “We do. It’s your first day of training, we’ll have to straighten you out before you face the others.” 

       Voltaea manages to muster a small smile for her - “Give me something to help?” 

       “Glad you’ve decided to embrace your advantages - I have just the thing.” Alara practically flies off the bed, scouring her top drawer for what she needs. Stimulant patch, migraine pills - she heads to the bathroom to pour a small glass of water from the sink. When she returns, Voltaea has managed to sit herself upright - she rubs at the space between her eyes in an effort to chase off the headache. Alara hands her the pills and the glass first - “This is for the pain.” She takes them - no questions this time - no hesitation. Good girl. 

       There’s a knock at the door - interrupting as always - “That’ll be Orville with your uniform, hang on darling.” She adjusts the belt holding her robe together as she walks to the door. Orville stands just outside, holding a neatly folded stack of clothes with a pair of coal-black running shoes and a familiar notepad balanced beneath them. He glances behind her and turns a violent shade of violet-red when he sees Voltaea sitting on her bed. 

       “I… ahem.” He clears his throat, straightening his back out in an unconvincing effort to feign confidence. “I had Claudius bring the notes she left on the train, those are here as well.” He shifts uncomfortably, trying to avoid looking at her girl behind her - but doesn’t leave. Oh stop pretending you’re so offended, it’s pathetic. She bites back the thought before it leaves her lips. 

       Alara scowls at him - she likes the way it makes him squirm. “Are you going to stand there all morning, or do you have something useful to be doing?”

       Orville takes a deep breath - fidgeting - the boy is a ball of nerves right now. He tries to keep his voice steady when he speaks, but she can hear the fear in it - “Are you certain that this is an… appropriate sleeping arrangement for a tribute?” He flinches like he’s been slapped the second the words leave his mouth. 

       “Are you paid to pass judgement on my mentoring methods?” he opens his mouth like he wants to say something but Alara cuts him off - “No, you aren’t. Your job is to be personable with our sponsors and to do what I tell you.” Alara leans close, hissing into his ear in a tone low enough that her girl can’t hear - “I suggest you don’t overstep like this again - not if you value your position.” He doesn’t say anything, just nods - shaking. The round boy turns on his heels and departs back down the hallway as she closes the door behind him. 

       She carries the stack back to her girl, who looks… uncomfortable, all of the sudden. “What’s wrong, darling? You seem tense.” Alara leaves the pile at the foot of her bed and slides back under the sheets next to Voltaea. 

       “I shouldn’t have come here… I didn’t mean to cause trouble…” Her voice is low, quivering - she averts her eyes when she speaks - Alara tilts her face back towards her, gently.

       “Stop. You’ve done nothing wrong.” She kisses her softly - the tension in her girl’s body seems to dissipate the second their lips meet. Alara pulls back before she has a chance to deepen it - “No one is getting in any trouble here - it’s just Orville being nosy, he won’t say a word. The boy values his status too much to throw it away on a hunch.” She smooths her girl’s hair back so she can look into her eyes unabated, dropping her voice to a sultry whisper - “Nothing that happens between us is anyone’s business but ours.” She feels her stomach churn at the lie - it’s strange. Lying usually comes so naturally. She tries to coach herself through the feeling - It’s necessary . If I don’t claim you, someone else will. Nothing that happens in the Capitol happens without someone watching, better that we control when they see us. 

       Voltaea nods - “Okay.” she rolls to her side and buries her face into Alara’s neck. 

       “Don’t get too comfortable, darling - we have work to do.” Alara takes the stimulant patch from her pocket, carefully placing it on her girl’s back in a way that it won’t be visible beneath her uniform. She allows herself to lie there for a while, basking in the last few minutes of comfort they’ll have together until tonight. Her fingertips trace Voltaea’s pulse point as she feels her heart rate rise in response to the patch.

       Voltaea finally raises her head, eyes wide, pupils dilated - a huge grin spreads across her face - Alara’s own heart races in response. When her girl finally speaks, it’s sparkling with confidence - “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

Chapter Text

Bystander - Orville: 

       Orville Straud has been working since before dawn - today is the first day of training, and he’s determined to make sure everything is in perfect working order before the rest of the suite’s occupants even think to get out of bed. He’s picked up uniforms for Coulomb and Voltaea from the staff downstairs, had Claudius gather the things Alara left behind on the train, and arranged for a nutritious - and of course delicious - breakfast to be delivered. He’s even crafted a comprehensive itinerary of sponsor meetings that he’ll need to attend while Alara watches over training with her cohorts in the mentor’s lounge today. Nothing overlooked, nothing out of place - everything is going exactly to plan. 

       He wakes Coulomb first - less stressful that way. He’s grown fond of the small boy over the last several days - he’s personable, clever, and loves all manner of sweets - he reminds me of myself at that age. He tries not to think about the poor thing having to fight in just a few day’s time, all he can do is hope his cleverness carries him through. 

       When Orville knocks at his door, the boy answers within seconds - like he was already awake and waiting. His eyes are puffy, cheeks streaked with tears - “Is it time for breakfast?” Coulomb sniffles as he speaks. Oh dear. I’m terrible with tears. 

       “It will be soon -” Orville hands him a handkerchief from his pocket to dry his face. “- are you feeling alright this morning?” 

       Coulomb nods, wiping his cheeks - “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Orville. I just had some bad dreams is all.” The boy tries to give him a smile, it looks forced. “Can we practice more signing today? I wanna show V in training - it’ll be like our secret District Five code!”

       The mention of Voltaea throws him off - his first instinct is to warn the boy to stay far away from her. Are you sure it’s wise to be relying on that girl? She’s very… influenced by Alara, that could be dangerous. He stops himself short of speaking that thought aloud - wouldn’t be the right approach . District unity is very popular with the audience, it could lose them sponsors if they don’t present a united front. He just ends up saying - “Of course, I think that’s a brilliant idea!”. Better to leave him with some new skills even if they end up benefitting her as well. The two walk down the hallway towards the lounge. 

       He walks Coulomb to the dining table, pulling out a chair with a practiced flourish “Breakfast will be here soon, I’ll be back in just a moment with your District partner.” The boy nods, smiling a bit more earnestly now. Orville takes off down the hallway, back towards the other tribute quarters. 

       He knocks at the door to the girl’s room - no answer. After half a minute’s wait, he knocks again - louder this time - and presses his ear to the door to see if he can hear her stirring. Nothing, not a sound. A knot forms in his chest - Oh dear… I hope she’s just a heavy sleeper. After the third knock with no response he decides to open the door and wake her a bit more aggressively. Oh, this isn’t good, this isn’t good AT ALL! 

       The room is untouched - the bed unused, the spare clothes he’d brought for her still folded in a neat pile on the coffee table, the lights off. It’s like she hasn’t been in here - perhaps she hasn’t been in here - oh gods, have I LOST A TRIBUTE?! His heart races so quickly it’s threatening to burst out of his chest - pure panic - he tries to calm himself with deep breaths and positive words - Alara is going to KILL ME! 

       Positive words seem to elude him as he races to the lounge to call Alara’s private suite in the hopes the distance of a call will be enough to keep her from strangling him when she finds out he’s failed to account for an entire teenager . Claudius is standing against the wall by the dining table when he storms in, pale faced and panic-laced - Coulomb tries to say something but he ignores him - too much to fix, too little time . He yanks the phone from its holder and dials the number from memory - Alara picks up on the fourth ring - “You’ve reached Alara, I hope this is good news.”

       Orville’s blood runs cold when he hears the grogginess in her voice - Oh gods, I’ve woken her up! AND it is NOT good news at all - he stammers his response into the receiver “Yes, ah. Well, how to put this -” 

       Alara sighs loudly, frustration mounting - he can feel it even through the phone - “Spit it out, I have too much to do today.” 

       He ends up blurting it all out, without thinking of how to soften the blow - “The girl isn’t in her room, I think I’ve lost her! I don’t know where she could be, I didn’t see her leave the suite at all and I -”

       Alara cuts him off, but her voice is calmer now - “She’s in here. With me.” Her words do nothing to calm the growing pit in his stomach - That might be worse than losing her, what is she thinking? What are they doing in - no - not my business - don’t make it my business. 

       Orville straightens himself out - the rest of their call is brief - just an exchange about bringing the girl’s training uniform to Alara’s suite and the technicalities of breakfast - where she is apparently living now, gods help her. He hangs up and turns back towards the table where Coulomb and Claudius are both staring at him expectantly. “What’s going on, Mr. Orville? You look really pale.” 

       “Nothing to worry about, it’s just… ah…” Orville scrambles to find an explanation that won’t betray what he really feels - “Your friend fell asleep during a strategy meeting with Alara, that’s all. If you’ll both excuse me, I have to bring the girl her uniform.” He looks to Claudius - the handsome avox is frowning at him, he shakes his head - “Claudius, would you mind grabbing the breakfast cart? And bringing Coulomb here his training gear as well?” The avox nods, but he gives him the sign for ‘Talk later’ as he directs Coulomb to stand up and head back to his room to change. 

       Orville sighs - the situation is out of my hands at this point. It doesn’t make him feel any less ill about it - not when he’s seen firsthand how Alara has manipulated the girl. He gathers Voltaea’s uniform and her notes from the train into a neat stack before taking off towards Alara’s private suite. When he arrives at the door, he hears muffled voices from inside - don’t be nosy, just knock - he raps softly on the door and hears Alara say something to the girl he can’t quite make out. 

       She answers a moment later, her usually coiffed curls tangled from sleep and looking very self-satisfied. He glances behind Alara - this is a new low for her - she has the girl in her bed , wearing that same black silk robe she was in the day prior and looking very hungover. His cheeks burn - he averts his eyes, trying to keep contact with Alara instead. Focus on the job, Orville. “I… ahem.” he clears his throat, there’s a lump growing in the back he can’t seem to shake - “I had Claudius bring the notes she left on the train, those are here as well.” Alara takes the stack of clothes from his hands. He doesn’t move. 

       He’s not sure what else he can say - if I say anything I’ll never work in this city again. Just leave, you can just turn and leave. His mind wanders back to his friend Claudius - of the concerns they’d shared for the girl - of the gnawing feeling of guilt in his stomach when he thinks about what’s happening. Just go to breakfast, don’t bother her. Alara glares at him, a look of anger flashes across her face - “Are you going to stand there all morning, or do you have something useful to be doing?”

       Claudius would think less of me if I didn’t at least try - he shifts, steels himself, and speaks in the calmest voice he can muster - “Are you certain that this is an… appropriate sleeping arrangement for a tribute?” I shouldn’t have said that. 

       Alara’s rage is immediate - her voice is cold, sharp, and utterly terrifying - he flinches - “Are you paid to pass judgement on my mentoring methods?”. Orville attempts to apologize but Alara cuts him off - “No, you aren’t. Your job is to be personable with our sponsors and to do what I tell you.” I know… She leans close, a whispered threat in his ear that makes his whole body tremble - “I suggest you don’t overstep like this again - not if you value your position.” Not if I value my life, you mean. He nods, he understands exactly what the stakes are with this woman - and he doesn’t intend to make this mistake again. The girl is on her own. 

       Orville spins around and heads back for the lounge with a newfound resolve to stop sticking his nose in places that will get him fired - or worse, killed. It’s for the best if he focuses his efforts on keeping Coulomb safe for now - that, at least, is something he can control. He’ll tell the handsome avox that he tried, of course, but at this point - well, Alara and the girl both seem to have made up their minds .  

       He makes a beeline for the bar counter - Coulomb hasn’t returned from changing yet - and pours himself a shot of clear liquor, downing it before anyone sees. I haven’t had a daytime shot since University - but - desperate times and all. The burn of the shot shoots through him, calming his frayed nerves as it does. He pours another - just for good measure - and knocks it back. He stashes the glass as he hears Coulomb’s voice echo from down the hallway - “Is it almost time for breakfast?” 

       “Claudius should be back soon -” The boy skitters back down the hall to the dining area, nearly tripping over a rug by the door but catching himself just in time. 

       “I like the shoes, they’re easy to run in. Kinda springy too!” Coulomb bounces a few times to demonstrate. “I wish we had nice stuff back in Five -” the boy plops himself down in a dining chair. “Do you think if one of us wins they’ll let our families have some nicer things? My sister likes to run, but her shoes dig into her ankles pretty bad when she does. If I win, I want to get her a pair of these!” 

       Orville tries not to let his innards tie themselves into knots again at the boy’s question. There’s protocols about the sorts of things you should say to tributes - ‘It’s an honor to compete’ ‘Victory comes with fame, glory, and fortune’ ‘Try your hardest - even an underdog has a chance’. It all feels hollow in the face of the tiny boy before him - so earnestly excited about something as simple as a decent pair of sneakers. There’s something about this year’s tributes that seem so profoundly unfair to him. Neither of them really has a choice in their fates, not really. Perhaps none of them ever had. Perhaps none of this had ever been fair. Perhaps the Games aren’t the wonder we’ve been led to - no! He interrupts his own train of thought. That must be the liquor talking, or the stress - you can’t go around thinking like this, Orville. You’re an escort, not the president.

       Instead of voicing the sorts of things that lead one to sedition charges, he simply tells the boy “I’m sure that if you win, they’ll let you bring her a thousand pairs - if that’s what you want to do.” 

       Claudius walks back through the doors to the suite before he has to justify anything else to himself - thank Snow for that. He wheels the breakfast cart to the end of the table and starts arranging the contents across it. “Can I eat now?” Coulomb asks, a note of excitement in his voice as he eyes a tray of tarts that Claudius puts right within his reach with a wink. 

       There’s still a while left before he’d told Alara to arrive for breakfast, but he can’t see a good reason to make the boy wait - they’ll catch up when they get here - “Go ahead, we may as well eat before it gets cold. Those tarts look delightful - perhaps I’ll have one myself!” He scoops up a lemon-and-raspberry flavored one from the tray as Coulomb fills his plate with an assortment of mostly sweet breakfast items. Claudius catches his eye and signs ‘follow me’, walking over to the window overlooking the city near the couch on the opposite side of the lounge. 

       Orville steals a glance back at Coulomb who seems more than happy to distract himself with food for the moment. He drops his voice to a low whisper - “Alright, my friend, what do you want to know?” 

       Claudius signs something that he interprets as ‘Girl, Alara, what is going on?’. Orville feels his stomach start to churn again - “I… I tried to ask - I said it wasn’t appropriate for them to be sharing a bed, at least.” his eyes widen in surprise when Orville mentions them sharing a bed. “It went nowhere - apart from Vox threatening my career and my life.” 

       The avox looks distraught - he signs ‘Drugs?’ Orville nods. “I think she’s been dosing her again, the girl looked like she’d been dragged through hell this morning.” 

       Claudius flashes a few more signs in quick succession - it takes him a moment to piece together what he’s trying to say but he eventually interprets it as ‘This city breaks people for its own entertainment - it makes monsters - we may end up with another if she wins under her influence.’ Orville repeats it back to him in a low whisper just to confirm he got the jist - the avox nods. This borders on seditious talk, drop the conversation. 

       Instead of listening to sense, Orville nods in agreement. “I dread what happens if she does - not just for us, but for her. Especially if anyone finds out about this. I doubt her home District would look kindly on that sort of relationship… and Alara will never let it go. She’ll drag that girl right into her drugs and her madness and keep her there until she burns herself out - and we’ll be left with the mess.” At least I can walk away without taking a knife to the back.   

       He watches as Claudius starts to sign something in return, but he’s distracted almost immediately by Alara’s voice booming out behind him - “Orville! Stop flirting with the help and come serve breakfast! I want to talk sponsorships this morning.” He spins around to see Alara pulling out a chair for the girl to sit in - arm wrapped possessively around her waist the whole time. At least she had the decency to let her get dressed today. 

       Orville straightens his tie and walks back to the table, Claudius in tow. He takes a seat next to Coulomb, who’s already asking the girl what their plans are for training today - blissfully unaware of the death-glare Alara is shooting in his direction. Voltaea sits across from him - she looks… twitchy. Like Alara does when she’s taken too many stims - tapping her fingertips incessantly against the edge of the table. It seems they’ve decided to share that vice as well. When she speaks, it's rapid - pressured - “First, tell me what you saw at the parade - I want to know what we’re up against.”

Chapter Text

Focus - Voltaea 

        As she walks to breakfast with Alara’s arm wrapped around her waist, Voltaea Amprole feels like she’s already won the games. Her newfound focus - razor-sharp - she doesn’t feel fear about the things Alara gives her anymore. It’s like having a fresh set of batteries plugged into her every morning - full-power - the headaches are a small price to pay. Alara tells her she’ll adjust. She knows she will - she knows the advantage they give her is too great not to. The rapid reactions - no hesitation. Laser-focus, pure energy - it’s like being the best version of herself. She’d asked for them today - no doubt Alara would have offered anyway - but the pride on her mentor’s face when it was her suggestion? Priceless. I’d do anything to keep seeing that look. 

        Coulomb is already seated at the dining table when they walk in, occupying himself with a plateful of breakfast - chewing too loudly, I can hear him from here, ugh. Alara pulls out a chair - it shrieks across the tiles, not inviting . When she speaks, the siren-song of her voice eases Voltaea’s nerves “Orville! Stop flirting with the help and come serve breakfast! I want to talk sponsorships this morning.” Even her anger sounds like music.

        She lets Alara guide her into the chair as Orville slides into one of his own next to Coulomb - it takes her a moment to process that the boy has broken the silence again, don’t talk and chew, it’s awful. She bites her tongue and tries to process what he’s actually saying - “Hey V, what’s our plan gonna be for training today? Should we stick together or do you think we should split up to cover more stations? I have a couple of ideas if you wanna hear them.“ Tap-tap-tap-tap - her fingertips start to create their own rhythm against the table without her input - helps the focus . 

        “First, tell me what you saw at the parade - I want to know what we’re up against.” It’s all she’s wanted to ask him since last night, planning can wait. 

        He takes a second to swallow the bread he’s been chewing on - thank the gods - before he speaks again - “Well, I didn’t catch everything they were saying - two of them had their backs to me - but they’re definitely making an early alliance. I saw one of the twins say they wanted to start teaming up with as many Outer District kids as they could, like a counter-alliance to the careers, and I thought ‘hey, maybe I should ask them to team up with us-’”

        “No!” Voltaea is louder than she intended to be - Coulomb recoils slightly - she softens herself, taking a deep breath before she speaks again - “I just mean, looking at past games - it’s not a good idea to put your trust in too many people, Coulomb. Look at how many alliances fall apart because one person decided their life matters more than whatever goal they started with.” The boy nods, but looks skeptical . “Look, I’m okay with us picking up a couple of allies, if we vet them first - but if these two are doing this to go against the Careers, I don’t want to paint a bigger target on our backs.” The Capitol has already started editing all the footage they’re in, they’ve made someone angry. We can’t afford to make powerful people angry if I’m going to win. She leaves that part out - better not to worry him, he’s sensitive, don’t let him open us up to weakness.

        There’s another shriek of metal-on-tile as Alara pulls out the chair next to her and sits - she wraps her claw-tipped hand over Voltaea’s upper thigh under the table, giving it a quick squeeze that makes her whole body ignite again. “As your mentor -” It's the first time she’s heard her address Coulomb directly - the way Alara says the word mentor seems like it pains her. “I’m inclined to agree. One rotten apple spoils the whole bunch - you can’t afford to be too trusting.” Alara turns to her and gives her a knowing smirk - she’s making sure he listens to me - before shifting her attention back to the boy. “I have two suggestions for you. First - don’t draw too much attention to yourself. You’re small and weak - if you don’t give people a reason to focus on you, you can slip under the radar while they go after more obvious targets. It’s to your advantage to be invisible . Second - utilize your partner.” Alara gives her leg another squeeze when she says this, for emphasis - I can make him useful, somehow. “I’m sure she can show you all kinds of useful tricks during training that’ll help you both once the fighting starts.” 

        Coulomb takes another huge bite of some pastry on his plate - Voltaea has to dig her nails into her scar to silence the urge to scream when he talks through chewing again - “Okay, so we’re gonna work as a team then! Cool! What should we focus on first?” 

        “ Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s rude -” Alara snaps at him and he claps a hand over his mouth. “- but I’m glad you asked, this goes for the both of you. You’ll want to focus on the areas you’re weak in for the first day - finding food, filtering water, first aid, maybe a basic weapon skill or two…”

        Breakfast becomes a blur of strategizing and conversation. Voltaea hangs on every word Alara says - trying to pick up any double meanings she can discern from her talk with Coulomb. He seems happy to have access to their mentor at all now and plies her with question after question. Survival first, then weapons, keep an eye on the others, small alliances - or none at all, look for clues to the arena, play the sponsors, put on a show, don’t reveal our secrets to the competition. It’s mostly things she’s thought of before, when she imagined how training would go when she was chosen. It’s the hidden implications - the one’s she’s certain Alara is trying to communicate to her with those tactical squeezes and sideways glances - that catch her interest. Make Coulomb useful, make sure he trusts you completely, separate yourselves from the pack, find your moment - he can be your secret weapon, he’s going to die anyway it may as well be for your benef… Shit, what’s wrong with me? Her chest tightens, stomach churning - I shouldn’t be thinking like this, it's cruel. 

        Alara seems to sense her tension - she digs her nails into Voltaea’s thigh so hard she nearly gasps. “Voltaea, darling, you need to eat something. Here -” Alara heaps some kind of casserole onto her plate, looking at her expectantly. She takes a huge bite in the hopes of appeasing her “- Good girl.” Her face burns as Alara releases her iron grip on her thigh. “Now, where was I going with this… oh yes! Orville, let’s go over your itinerary -” 

        Orville - she’d nearly forgotten he was here and he looks just as surprised to be addressed. It takes him a moment to get his bearings before he starts chirping away about his schedule of sponsor meetings. Voltaea starts chewing louder just to drown out the sound of his awful accent - it’s too much this morning . She shifts her gaze towards Coulomb who’s trying to stuff down another helping of food while he listens. Her heartbeat pounds in her ears - static rising to meet it - I don’t want to kill him. She shoves aside the feeling of guilt that grows in her gut, steeling herself for what has to happen if she’s going to make it out alive. But he’s going to have to die somehow. The realization doesn’t make it any less upsetting.

        Voltaea eats quietly for the rest of the meal, nodding along with Coulomb’s attempts at small talk - her mind buzzes too loudly to really follow what he’s saying. After they finish with breakfast, Alara is the first to stand up - “Voltaea, come with me for a moment. Orville, you can take the boy downstairs before you head to your first meeting.” she turns to Coulomb, flashing him a charm-soaked smile “Don’t worry, I’ll have her down there with you before you know it.” She grabs Voltaea’s hand and pulls her up from the chair. Coulomb gives them a small wave as she practically drags her back down the hallway towards her private suite.

        As the door whirs shut behind them, Alara turns to her with a huge grin on her face - “I think that little strategy session went well! The boy seems like he’ll listen to reason now, at least.” 

        “You want me to use him.” Voltaea’s voice is shaky, she clenches her fists together “That’s why you jumped in, so he’d trust my judgement.” 

        Alara reaches up to caress the side of her face - “Of course, darling.” Voltaea frowns at her “Why the pouting? You were the one who suggested an alliance with the boy - the least I could do is make sure he’s pliable for you.” 

         “I didn’t think you’d suggest I hurt him! I meant we should work together - not that I should use him as some kind of weapon!” She yells louder than she’d intended again, pulling back from Alara’s touch - “I’ll never live it down if I do - my sister would hate me - I don’t wan-”

        Alara cuts her off “I suggested nothing of the sort! My only intent was to help you gain his trust.” But you did! I know you did! She cocks her head to the side, eyes narrowing - “Darling, where are you getting this idea from?”

        She can barely hear her own thoughts through the static now - “I… you kept grabbing me! And shooting me these looks! I just thought, you know… you were trying to tell me something?” Did I imagine that?   

        Alara’s face is unreadable, but when she speaks again, it’s soft - slow - melodic - “You need to breathe.” Voltaea takes a deep breath. “Good. Look down at yourself for me, would you?” She does - her whole body is shaking, she hadn’t realized how noticeable it was. Alara tilts her chin back up to look at her. “What I was trying to tell you - that you seem to have misinterpreted - is that you’re over-strung. That’s why I had to get you to eat something to take the edge off.” 

        Voltaea slams her eyes shut, mind reeling, heart th-thumping into her throat - “That can't be right, that means that I -” she trails off.

        Alara jumps in to say what she can’t bring herself to, “-That you came up with that idea all on your own, yes.” She feels Alara wrap her arms around her neck, linking her fingers together at the nape. “Open your eyes -” her voice is still soft, brow furrowed with concern. “-I don’t know what’s going on in that head of yours, my sweet. But if you find some brilliant use out there for the boy - don’t let fear get in the way of that. Your sister told you to live, right?” Voltaea nods “Then she’ll understand - you just do what you have to do.” Alara looks her over - “You’re still shaking, I think I might have stepped up your dosage too much this morning. My bad. Here - I’ll take the patch off…” Alara reaches a hand down the back of her shirt but Voltaea lurches backward before she can remove it.

        “Don’t!” Alara releases her as soon as she yells, raising both hands up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m so- no apologizing. I mean. I’ll get used to it. Just let me adjust.” She breathes deeply through her nose as she tilts her head back - focusing all of her energy on not moving as she does. When she exhales, she looks back down at herself - less shaky, at least - “There, see - I can calm down all on my own.” 

        Alara narrows her eyes, scrutinizing - “Just promise me you’ll let me know if you have any other undesirable side effects, alright darling?” 

        “I promise. But I really do feel great! Apart from, you know…” she trails off again, suddenly self-conscious. 

        “The thoughts of murder?” Voltaea flinches at the word ‘murder’, averting her eyes. Alara laughs - she claps a hand on her shoulder - her tone is teasing - “I didn’t mean to offend, darling. I mean - you told me on our first night together how you keep entire books full of ways to kill your fellow tributes - it’s not exactly a new phenomenon for you, is it?” Shit… is that what my notes come off as? Am I crazy? “Don’t get all ashamed on me now - it’s an advantage! Most of your competition won’t have the stomach for real artistry - you seem to come by it naturally - like I did.” She thinks I’m an artist?

        “There’s that smile!” Voltaea hadn’t realized she was smiling, but she can feel it in her cheeks when Alara points it out. “Now, we should probably get you downstairs. I can’t come onto the training floor with you, but I’ll be watching you - I know you’ll make me proud.” Alara stands on her toes to plant a kiss on her forehead. She towards the door - “Follow me, I’ll drop you off before I go to the mentor’s lounge”. That’s it? 

        Wait. No hesitating - Voltaea cups Alara’s face in her hands turning her back and pulling her into a real kiss - pouring every pent up bit of energy she has into it. She lets her tongue lightly trace the outline of Alara’s lips until they open just for her . Before it goes further, she pulls back, taking a moment to relish in the huge grin she gets in response. I did better this time. “Okay. Now we can go.” She smiles back, feeling a little smug about her success in catching Alara off-guard. 

        They head out, down the hall towards the elevator. This time Voltaea takes the lead - brimming with confidence. Alara’s heels click against the tile floors behind her, she feels the thumping in her throat fall into rhythm with the sound - “Any last questions before you meet the others, darling?” 

        “Nope.” For once, her mind is clear of confusion - today is her day to shine. They step into the elevator together, Alara pushes two buttons in quick succession and the doors clasp shut behind them.

        As soon as they close, Alara pushes her up against the corner of the elevator and lays another kiss on her. What is she doing? The walls are glass! Someone will see! - all that she manages to squeeze out against Alara’s lips is “Mhgmghh!” 

        She pulls back, smirking - “What was that, darling? I didn’t quite catch it.” 

        “I - shit -” She closes her eyes as the elevator lurches into motion. “-why did you do that?” 

        Alara shrugs, “I like to have the last word on these things.  Besides, you enjoyed yourself - it’s all over your face.”  

        She feels the heat in her cheeks - me and my traitor of a face - “I mean, yeah, but…” She gestures at the glass walls around them, floor after floor rushing by in quick succession “you know… privacy?” 

        “Like I told you on the train - there’s no such thing in the Capitol.” The elevator lurches to a stop and Alara takes a step backward as the doors fly open - “Here we are! Enjoy yourself Voltaea -” She steps to the side, motioning Voltaea past her “-  and don’t torch anyone while I’m away!” Before she can think of a retort, the doors have already shut behind her, carrying Alara off to wherever she’s going and leaving her among the other tributes in the training hall.

        She’s stunned by the sheer size of the place - it must take up at least two full stories of the tribute tower. It’s quieter than she expected, scattered clanging noises like metal striking metal, soft chattering - there’s a low hum from the fluorescent lights above her. It’s more sterile here than the rest of the Capitol has been. Almost peaceful. Suddenly, she hears a sharp chorus of laughter and her eyes are immediately drawn to a balcony near the top of the room where a group of oddly-dressed people sit talking among themselves, clinking wine glasses together and largely ignoring the tributes below. Gamemakers . A nearby wall seems to have been converted into a climbing structure - not that this was a skill she’d need to practice - but it comforts her nonetheless that she could if she wanted to. And I could use it to show off later. Marcelus is sparring with the boy from Four, Mako, using training swords at one of the stations on the far end while their District partners chat nearby, waiting for their own turn. They don’t notice her arrival yet - good - she scans the room looking for Coulomb. 

        She doesn’t have a chance to find him on her own before another familiar-sounding voice booms out across the gym floor - drawing half the eyes in the room towards her and destroying any chance she had at blending in - “Look who decided to show up!” She whirls around to see Sarah from Seven waving at her. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with the boy from her District and Coulomb with a pile of paper and wood scraps in the middle of them. He waves to her as well - she doesn’t move. Are they practicing fires? I guess he took the survival skills to heart but he seems to have missed the ‘don’t make allies without vetting them’ part of that talk. Though if I had to choose a team with just what I know so far… “Hey, Sparky! Quit spacing out and come over here!” 

        Voltaea walks over to the group, plopping down on the floor in the empty space next to Coulomb. He pokes at her side - “Check this out, they taught me how to make sparks with rocks -” he scrapes a piece of rock and metal together a few times until sparks fly out of them, igniting the small pile of wood in front of them while the trainer looks on from the sidelines. She gives him a thumbs up and a small smile, but her mind is elsewhere. 

        She turns back to Sarah - “So were you trying to draw the attention of everyone in the room, or are you always this loud?” 

        Sarah laughs loud enough to make her ears fill with static - “Oh, the second one for sure. I work on a lumber crew - you kinda have to be if you want anyone to hear you over the sound of chainsaws.” The large girl elbows her in the side - it seems playful - but she’s strong enough that Voltaea has to catch herself from tipping over. “Besides - you did a pretty good job last night of getting everyone's attention without my help.” she can’t help but smile at that. 

        Be casual - people like casual. Voltaea shrugs - “He seems to think he’s the hottest thing in Panem, I was just helping him achieve that dream.” 

        This earns her another ear-splitting laugh - “I like you Sparky, you’re weird.” I’ll take weird, I guess. Not sure about Sparky though. 

        She tries to correct her - “You know my name’s Voltaea, right?” 

        “Yeah, but Sparky’s more fun. You seem like you need some fun in your life. You’re all twitchy and shit, I thought it’d loosen you up a little.” Am I still twitchy? She looks down to confirm that yes, she’s still shaking a bit at the extremities. Sarah drops her voice to a whisper - somehow still louder than it should be - “Look, I’ll be straight with you. I asked my mentor if he’d talk to yours about an alliance last night, but he said it had to come from your District. Said he was ‘too nervous’ to ask yours for any favors - I guess she has a reputation.” she nods towards Coulomb. “Your buddy here says he’s too nervous to ask her too, so I guess it falls to you to decide.” Voltaea digs her nails into her scar in an attempt to stop the blush that creeps into her face at the mention of Alara. She’s not that scary, is she? She was nice to him this morning at least.

        Don’t think about that now. Stay on topic. “Why us?” She eyes Sarah for a reaction - “I mean, you don’t know anything about our skill sets, and there’s other alliances forming besides the careers -” She points towards the first aid station, where the twins from Eight are sitting with the tributes from Eleven and Nine - they seem to have added the girl from Twelve as well since last night. 

        Sarah sighs - “Yeah, no offense, but none of those kids strike me as ready for action - you’ve already proven you are. And your buddy here has spent the last twenty minutes talking about nothing but how smart he thinks you are - all while figuring out how to start a fire in a shorter time than it took either of us to. You guys bring the brainpower. As for us…” She makes a show of flexing her arms - Voltaea averts her eyes, suddenly flustered - shit - “I can swing an axe pretty good - and Bashir is the sneakiest little shit I’ve ever met in my life. We’d have a good balance if we teamed up.” Voltaea turns to look at Bashir but he’s… gone?! When did he get up? How did I miss that? She feels Sarah tap her on the shoulder, pointing towards the climbing structure where she sees Bashir has already made it half-way up. “See what I mean about sneaky? Climbs like a squirrel too. Gets bored easily though - Blight’s had a hell of a time keeping track of him since we got here. Choice is yours, though. If you don’t want us, we’ll leave you be - at least ‘till I have to kill you.”  

        Voltaea weighs her options. On the one hand - She’s capable, has a weapon skill, her partner isn’t dead weight, she’s funny, she hates Marcelus as much as I do, Coulomb seems to trust her, she’s strong, I like talking to her, and she’s been my ally pick since day one. On the other hand - She’s loud, and Alara said she can’t be trusted. But why? She seems straightforward. I mean… she must have a good reason. But there’s more pros than cons here - she’ll have to understand my decision. 

        Voltaea reaches out a hand - “Allies, then?” 

        Sarah grabs ahold of her hand, shaking it with enough strength that Voltaea worries she might break her fingers if she shifts the wrong way - “Allies.” She turns to Coulomb, shaking his hand a little more gently - “And you too, little man.” She throws back her head and lets out that loud whoop -ing noise Voltaea has seen her make a few times now - no one seems phased - she must do this a lot . “Alright, now that it’s official, can you tell us about that secret talent you mentioned?” She looks at Coulomb when she says it - Voltaea is utterly confused.

        “Coulomb - what’s she talking about?” Voltaea turns to look at him as well, frowning. “And if it’s a secret, why are you telling people about it?” he shifts uncomfortably - averting his eyes and fiddling with the rocks in his hand. 

        It takes the boy a minute to find his voice again - “Um… I was gonna wait till today to tell you but… well… I’m sorry, V. I got excited, and I really wanted this team to work! It just slipped out… are you mad?” Only a little, but we have to work on your big mouth. She shakes her head at him, better not to let the frustration show. “Phew. Okay. So I’ve been practicing this with Mr. Orville. I’ve had to make some changes so we can do it over a long distance, but I think it’ll come in handy…” 

Chapter Text

"Mentoring" - Alara 

        As she rides the elevator to the mentor’s lounge, Alara Vox takes a moment to get her head on straight - with a little chemical assistance, of course. She pulls a small, silver, bullet-shaped container from her pocket, pushing it into her left nostril and pressing a button on the side to deliver a dose. Sniff - drip - swallow - clarity. Her throat goes numb after the burning stops - the world comes into perfect focus. The morning could have started more smoothly - she’d overdone it with her less-than-subtle cues to Voltaea over breakfast and gotten the poor thing all worked up. A carefully placed show of concern and a few gentle lies had gone a long way in convincing her she’d imagined Alara’s influence on her thinking. And the aftermath? Glorious - all caught in high-definition on the cameras she’d set up the night before. I love it when a plan comes together. 

        She arrives fashionably late to the mentor’s lounge - the place is already a hive of activity. She scans the room looking for any of the few people she can stand to be around and spots Selica sitting in an oversized recliner near the far wall watching one of the screens that show the training floor with rapt attention as two of the other mentors from her District chat nearby. Alara strides over and perches herself on the arm of the chair - “Have I missed anything interesting?” 

        Selica reaches up to remove one of her earbuds - “Hmm? Oh! Alara dear, I thought you’d be at least another hour. You’ll love this - I managed to convince my Cymbria to wear a wire, we’ll have an exclusive look at exactly what they’re saying down there this year!”

        “That’s very much against the rules, you know.” Alara teases. “We’re supposed to have eyes only - hearing their plans could give us an ‘unfair advantage’.”

        “Like you’ve ever cared about the rules in your life - here -” Selica hands her the earbud and scooches herself into one corner of the huge chair. “Sit with me, I’ll catch you up on what’s happened so far.” 

        Alara adjusts herself into place next to Selica, fiddling with the earpiece in her hands - she keeps it out for now, she wants an update on her girl before she starts listening to someone else’s. “Where is -”

        Selica points at the top right-hand corner of the screen, where she sees Voltaea and the boy sitting around laughing with - Oh for fucks sake, you don’t listen to me at all, do you? - the girl from Seven. The one Alara had specifically stated she didn’t want her teaming up with. They’re making strange gestures to each other with the boy, who seems to be chatting animatedly along with… whatever it is they’re doing, is this some kind of game? “She’s off making new friends, see? Now, Cymbria isn’t close enough that I can pick your group up on the mics, but from what I can tell they’ve made some kind of deal together - there were very official looking handshakes involved.” 

        “She’s not supposed to be making friends, she’s supposed to be learning how to avoid an early death. Especially not with that girl. I can’t stand her, every time I’ve seen her on camera she’s been nothing but obnoxious .” Alara can’t hide the venom that drips into her voice. 

        Selica shoots a confused look at her. “I don’t see where this frustration is coming from, you know as well as I do how important a strong alliance can be. And obnoxious or not, the big one seems capable - she’s chosen well on that front. I’d have been thrilled to welcome her into the Career pack if she hadn’t teamed up with yours already.”

        Alara feels her tremor rising alongside her anger and digs her nails into her thigh to steady herself. Selica isn’t wrong that the girl is likely capable - she’s practically a wall of muscle - it’s something in the way they’re interacting that makes her teeth itch. I don’t like how much attention you give her, darling. I prefer to be the center of that. Selica wouldn’t understand that yet, of course, so she changes the subject to distract from her own internal turmoil - “We’ll just have to see how it pans out, I suppose. What’s your idiot been up to this morning? Has he thought of a better strategy than flirting with everything that moves?”

        Selica laughs - “Oh no, not at all. He attempted to make a move on Cassia from Two this morning and she threatened to knock his teeth out if he tried it again. That one is terrifying , by the way - keep an eye on her. She broke a training dummy in half with her bare hands - and those things are built to withstand quite a beating. We have quite a batch of contenders this year, honestly - I fear for both our chances.” 

        “I don’t - for mine, at least.” Selica rolls her eyes at Alara’s response. “But I still want to know who your other favorites are so far.” 

        “Cymbria, of course - my budding little psychopath. She’s spent her time so far getting Nerisse from Four wrapped around her finger - you can hear that on the earpiece. I think she wants some insurance in case Marcelus blows up their alliance early with his one-man crusade to alienate the entire playing field.” Selica gestures to the bottom left of the screen. “Then there’s Ismene’s tragic twins - they’re building their own alliance of outcasts rather quickly. Not that any one of them is a real threat on their own, but as a group? Who knows.” Selica drops her voice to a whisper “It’s going to make your ‘special assignment’ that much harder if your girl has to pick them off from a pack, watch out for that.” 

        Alara tenses - it’s not ideal, but her hope is that Voltaea is smart enough not to take them on directly. “Anyone else?” 

        “Yes - look over at the duo from District Ten. They’ve kept to themselves so far - The boy, Rigo, looks like he could lift an entire ox over his head if you asked him to. And the girl, Tayanna, she -” 

        Alara frowns, cutting her off - “Is twelve, what threat could she possibly be?” 

        Selica shakes her head, continuing her assessment “She’s unreasonably quick on her feet - never underestimate how useful it can be to outrun the danger before it gets to you. And you should see what she can do with a rope - I watched her lasso a moving target in the shooting range and rip it off its track by the neck. The boy seems quite protective of her, I think they could put on quite a show together.” 

        “I’m not sold that their skills in cattle-wrangling will really translate to the battlefield, but I’ll keep my eye on them nonetheless.” Selica holds up a finger to her lips to quiet Alara - tapping on her earpiece to signal her to put hers in and listen. 

        Alara slips the earbud into her left ear so she can still hear Selica if she decides to pipe up again with something useful - “So you want to make a side alliance? Is that really smart? We’d be betraying our District partners…” The timid-sounding voice speaking into the mic is unfamiliar - Selica mouths the name ‘Nerisse’ to her. 

        “Marcelus and Mako are completely brainless - do you really want to be stuck with them?” A cold voice coils through the earbud - Selica points to Cymbria on screen with her follower, making their way towards Voltaea and Sarah who have taken up at the axe-throwing station while their partners are sitting on top of the climbing structure, playing that strange game with their hand gestures again, what is that about? “And I don’t trust that either of us could take the Two’s in a headlong fight. This is just… insurance. Five already made it clear she’s dangerous with the right tools in hand - and Seven is exactly the muscle we need. My idiot partner has pissed them both off - it should be easy enough to get them on our side if we play up our own distaste. We don’t have to make anything official - just a friendly chat among like minded tributes.” 

        Voltaea is - well, axe-throwing doesn't seem to be her strong suit - She’s made none of the shots she’s taken, Alara can see the frustration growing on her face. Sarah steps behind her, Cymbria is close enough that she can hear them on the mic now. “You gotta square your shoulders more, Sparky - and close one of your eyes to get it lined up right.” What kind of stupid fucking name - Alara nearly jumps out of the chair when she sees Sarah grab her girl’s shoulders and shift her into position - who in the hells does she think she is? That one’s mine.

        She leans forward so Selica can’t see the look of rage on her face - watching as Voltaea lets the axe fly once again. It hits - not centered, but it sticks in the target this time. Sarah claps her on the back and she watches her girl flush red in response - she mutters “Thanks for the help.” just loud enough for the mic to pick it up. I swear to every fucking god if you throw away the masterpiece we’re building for this tart … 

        Before she can finish her thought, Cymbria’s icy voice cuts through her earpiece again. “Nice shot, Five.” The two of them turn in unison to look at her. “You both seem more capable than my teammates give you credit for.” 

        Sarah pipes up first as Voltaea stands to the side, eyes narrowed - analyzing . “What’s your point? Trying to pick out the easy targets? Because you’re looking in the wrong place.” 

        “Nothing like that.” Cymbria smiles, making an attempt to sound friendly when she speaks again. “We just came to tell you how impressed we were with your skills - and to discuss a potential arrangement between all of us.”

        “We aren’t joining up with your freak pack, if that’s what you’re asking. I’d rather eat glass than spend another minute talking to your gross partner.” Alara’s eyes are on Voltaea - who still hasn’t moved an inch - she’s staring straight through Cymbria while Sarah handles the talking. 

        “You’re not alone in your disgust towards him - the two of us have come to the same conclusion. He’s created far too much tension among the Career alliance for my taste.” Cymbria shifts her gaze to Voltaea, meeting her stare head-on. “So… we’re looking for an alternative. Are you interested?”

        Sarah looks towards Voltaea - her girl taps the side of her head twice, then turns back towards the axe-throwing station. Huh? She faces Cymbria again. “Time for you two to go. We’re gonna need time to discuss it without you creeping on our conversation.” Before Cymbria can reply, Voltaea lets the axe fly and hits the target once more - more accurately, this time. 

        “Fine. But don’t take too long to think about it - there’s others in here that would jump at the chance to utilize our talents.” Cymbria grabs Nerisse by the wrist and leads her off towards another station. 

        Alara opens her mouth to say something but she hears a voice in the earpiece again and stops - “Five is calling the shots, that’s who we need to convince.” That’s my girl, good on you for taking charge. 

        “She looked like she wanted to throw that axe at you, Cym. I don’t know about this. It seems dangerous to throw our lot in with an unknown like that.” Nerisse lets the girl from One lead her over to an empty training station - knot tying. 

        “She’s posturing. I can win her over - I just need to find the right buttons to push.” Cymbria waves the instructor away, grabbing a rope on her own and starting to tie something that looks like the beginnings of a noose. Not if I have anything to say about that. “And once they trust us, it’ll be -” 

        Selica rips the cord of the earbud right out of Alara’s ear and cuts off whatever Cymbria was about to say - “Sorry, Alara dear - but it seems like Cymbria is going to give away her whole strategy, and I can’t have you using that against us.” she sighs “And here I was hoping she wanted an earnest alliance with you - I’m honestly a bit disappointed.” 

        Alara scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest - “Like I would let her near the Career pack in the first place - do you remember the last time we attempted a team-up? There’s a good reason I haven’t asked you for a formal alliance in a decade.” 

        “I recall you refusing to speak to me for a month after.” Selica grabs two cigarettes out of her pocket, handing one to Alara and lighting her own. 

        “That’s because you train traitors. No offence, darling - we all impart something of ourselves on our tributes, don’t we?” Selica scowls at her - Alara lights her smoke and takes a long drag before she speaks again. “Oh don’t look so mad - it was a compliment! If you hadn’t been one, you wouldn’t have won your games. I’m just glad my girl had the sense not to walk headlong into that trap.” Alara shifts her gaze back to the screen. 

        “I’ll try not to take it personally - but I do wish we could find a group that works well together. It’s more fun when you’re on my side.” Selica flags down a nearby waiter to bring her a glass of wine - Alara nods for one of her own. “I can’t say I fault you for not trusting my tributes, though. I wouldn’t.” They toast each other when the wine comes back - “To a lifetime of friendship, with all its flaws.”

        “That, I can drink to.” Alara settles back into the chair beside her. The two of them watch training in silence for a while - Voltaea and the other girl have met back up with their partners by the climbing wall and she finally has a chance to watch her work in her element. Voltaea scuttles up the wall like a spider, reaching the top in under a minute without breaking a sweat - impressive, you’ll have no issues finding the high ground in the arena, my sweet . Sarah lags behind her, her substantial size a disadvantage in this instance. It takes her several minutes to scale the structure and she looks breathless by the time she reaches the top. Alara lets out an involuntary scoff when she sees Voltaea and the boys cheering for her as she pulls herself onto the top ledge - for that pathetic performance?  

        “What are you worked up about this time? I can feel you twitching.” Selica’s voice snaps her back to the moment. 

        Alara rolls her eyes - “I just don’t understand what Voltaea thinks is so great about this girl - she barely managed to scale that wall and they’re practically throwing her a parade!” She points to the group atop the climbing structure, now laughing among themselves. 

        Selica waves her off - “Gods, this again? They’re just team-building, calm yourself! If she’s half the killer you say she is, she’ll have no issues looking past that once the fighting starts.” She points to Cymbria and Nerisse on the other side of the screen, laughing as well. “See - you don’t see me panicking about these two being ‘too close’, do you? No. Because I know when push comes to shove, Cymbria will end that girl without a second thought.” 

        “I’m going to need to have a talk with her about getting too close to the enemy…” Alara ignores Selica’s attempt at relating - She doesn’t have the same bond that we do, I can’t expect her to understand. “I don’t want her cozying up any more than she already has - she’s leaving herself open to weakness with her incessant flirting.”

        Selica shakes her head - “Flirting? Gods, I don’t know how you expect the girl to form a healthy alliance with you hanging over her shoulder acting like a jealous l-” she stops herself mid-sentence, eyes widening - Alara tries to act casual, but that brush with the truth has left her visibly rattled. Selica drops her voice to a whisper, leaning in close - “I knew her voice sounded familiar earlier! Alara, please don’t tell me that girl is who I heard on the phone last night?” She wasn't supposed to remember that conversation - this is bad.

        “It wasn’t.” Alara bites down on her tongue by mistake as her jaw clenches. Her nails dig into her thigh again in an attempt to keep a straight face - hard enough to leave welts. She’s going to see right through me, I can’t deflect on this, I’m useless. “You didn’t hear anything.” Absolutely useless!

        “Oh for fucks sake, you’re old enough to be her mother! What were you thinking?” Selica hisses in her ear, all pretenses and poise gone from her voice now.

        Alara glares at her - “Her mother is a year older than I am, thank you very much.” Really? That’s the best I can do?

        “That doesn’t make it any better - she’s a teenager! The poor thing probably has no idea what she’s walked into! I thought last night’s discovery might be a marketable love story not the scandal of the fucking century!” Selica lights herself another cigarette off the end of her nearly-finished one, stubbing it out in an ashtray on a nearby table. 

        “Why not both? Snow sold us both to the highest bidder after our victories, until we had something more valuable for him to latch onto.” Alara’s voice is indignant in spite of her nerves - she grabs her own hand to try and stop it from shaking. “The only ones who he spares from that fate are the undesirables, and the ones with something better to sell. If my girl wins, she’ll have something to sell built in - and that's us . I’m going to go public right as the games start, as insurance. The press will eat it up -” Oh gods why can’t I stop talking? Selica stares daggers at her, mouth agape - Alara still doesn’t stop - Her nerves won’t let her. “-You know as well as I do they will, don’t give me that look! And when they do, he’ll have no choice but to leave her alone! I’m protecting her, don’t you see that?” 

        “You… thats…. Alara - that’s a terrible excuse! First of all - you don’t even know if this plan will work! There are no guarantees this will be received the way you think it will, and - I hate to say this but she hasn’t won yet.” Alara nearly snaps at her - it’s not possible, I won’t let it be, I’ve invested too much . Selica keeps talking and she bites back the urge to scream - “And what if she does win - are you prepared to be stuck with her forever? The only reason I’ve been allowed to divorce so many times is because I’ve made my brand on short, explosive romances.” Selica has to stop herself and take a deep breath to wrangle her voice back to a whisper - “But you? You’ve never even had a public relationship - going out there with this is a declaration of devotion . And gods - I don’t even want to think about Snow’s reaction. The president won’t tolerate you backtracking on that kind of potential embarrassment for him if you get the people to endorse this... sordid affair of yours.” 

        Alara feels her heart pounding into her throat - it takes every ounce of self-control she has left not to start yelling - “I don’t want to backtrack - I’m going to keep this one. She’s the only thing that’s made me feel truly alive in years - gods, Selica, if you could see the way she looks at me…” 

        “No - I don’t want to hear any more about it.” Selica holds up a hand to stop her from saying anything else. “You need to think very hard about the path you’re on right now because if you follow it - it’s both your futures you’re deciding, and you haven’t given that girl a single choice in the matter.” But I have!

        Alara shrugs, attempting nonchalance - “She made her choice when she kissed me first - that was all her . If anything, I’m giving her exactly what she asked for - someone to love her in the way no one else in her life has bothered to.”

        “Oh so you love her now, is that it? You’re absurd - you barely know this girl.” Selica’s voice drips with sarcasm, but the question gives her pause. Do I?  “You’ve had some ill-conceived ideas over the years, but publicly shacking up with a tribute might be among your worst.”

        Is it? Alara is silent for a long moment - head spinning with doubts for the first time in days. I am helping you, aren’t I? She looks up to the screens - watching Voltaea deftly navigate back down the climbing structure - I mean, it certainly doesn’t look like I’ve hurt you any.  She sees her girl helping Coulomb down from the wall with a smile - it doesn’t meet her eyes, like she’s wearing it for show. When you do that for me it’s real - you don’t hide from me - that means something, doesn’t it? Her heart flutters - stomach tightening - the warm taste of sentiment laps at the back of her tongue again. She finally speaks, still a soft whisper. “Selica, darling. You know I value your input more than anyone else - but this time, you’re wrong. This girl is going to be my masterpiece.” 

        Selica opens her mouth to say something but she’s interrupted by an annoyingly familiar drawl from behind them - “What are we whispering about, hmm?” They both whirl around to see Ismene leaning over the back of the recliner looking very hungover , pouting dramatically - “Why wasn’t I invited to your gossip circle, aren’t we friends?” 

        “I have work to do, why don’t the two of you find somewhere else to be obnoxious together.” Selica mutters, shoving her other earbud back in and turning pointedly away from the two of them to watch her tributes. Alara sighs, pulling herself up out of the recliner - it won’t do any good talking to her about this more today. She’s always taken offense when Alara doesn’t listen to her suggestions - Even when she’s wrong. 

        Ismene smirks at her - “So what did you do to make her so grumpy this morning?” She swirls a glass of wine in her hand, trying to look smug. Ugh. I suppose she’ll have to do for company. She glances back to the screen for a moment - Voltaea isn’t doing much of interest, giggling and chatting away with her new ‘friend’ while they work through making a water filter - I do wish you’d stop flirting with that useless tree-troll, but we’ll rectify that later . What she does see, however, is the twins from Eight have picked up yet another member in their alliance - not ideal . She turns back to her drunken co-host - still staring expectantly at her - Though perhaps I can get something useful out of her today after all. 

        Alara snatches the glass from her hand, draining it herself before she can protest - “I’ll tell you all about it - but I’m going to need about six more of these before I can tolerate your presence. Let's post up by the bar, shall we?”

Chapter Text

Sparky - Voltaea

       The thing that has surprised Voltaea the most about training is how much she’s enjoying it. It’s sort of like being at work - tasks to focus on, banter among comrades, new things to learn - it’s perhaps not everyone’s idea of a great time, but it’s hers. So long as I don’t think about their inevitable deaths, anyway. She’s had to push that thought out of her mind more than once - it’s a worry for later - for now, she’s trying to enjoy the time she has with her newfound allies. She seems to be the only one in her group that isn’t completely exhausted by the time the intercom clicks to life overhead and calls them to lunch - I owe Alara a thank you for that, this stuff really does give me an edge over the rest of them .

       The second food is mentioned, Coulomb and Bashir race ahead to the cafeteria attached to the side of the training hall - too tired for more climbing but not for lunch, huh? Voltaea and Sarah trail along at a more leisurely pace behind them - she takes the opportunity to bring up their encounter with Cymbria and her sidekick to her new ally - “I hope we’re in agreement that the girl from One is bad news?”

       “Oh yeah, creep central. I don’t like how cold she looks behind the eyes - like she smiles and says all the right things but she’s plotting our deaths at the same time, y’know?” Sarah looks around to make sure no one else is listening. “What I don’t get is why you had me tell her we’d think about her offer - we aren’t teaming up with them, right?” 

       Voltaea shakes her head - “No. But I don’t want her to know that yet.” They walk through the doors to the cafeteria - Coulomb and Bashir have already found their way to the buffet and are heaping their plates full of all kinds of food she can barely wrap her head around. She drops her voice to a whisper - “What I’m hoping is that if we string her along for a while, she’ll give us some useful information. Either about herself, or the rest of the Careers.” 

       Sarah smiles and pushes her shoulder playfully - “Knew you were smart, Sparky. I would have just told her to fuck off, and we’d have nothing to show for it.”

       Voltaea shrugs - “She might not tell us anything useful, but at least we’ll have tried.” They walk together to the buffet - Sarah starts loading her plate with at least six different kinds of meat that Voltaea can’t identify. “Do you even know what half that stuff is?”

       “Nope! But we don’t get a lot of meat back home - I’m taking as much advantage as I can.” She continues down the line - Voltaea is slower to decide. Strangely, she hasn’t really felt hungry all day in spite of the exercise they’ve been doing. She forces herself to pick out a well-rounded meal, though nothing nearly as heavy as she’s seen the others taking - bread, vegetables, and some sort of thinly sliced steak. Once their plates are full, they take their seats at one of the rounded tables with their district partners. Coulomb looks up from his food just long enough to smile at them before digging back in. Their company has become a strange slice of normalcy among the chaos of the Games - she could almost get used to it. If I didn’t keep thinking of what comes next. 

       Just as she’s about to take a bite of her own lunch, Voltaea swears she hears a familiar voice whisper in her ear - “ Don’t get too attached, darling.” She spins around to look - no one is there - there’s no other sound but the chatter of the other tributes and the faint humming of the lights overhead. Weird. When she turns back, Sarah is staring at her while chewing a mouthful of food - “You alright? You look kinda pale.” 

       “I’m fine, I was just checking on our competition.” Liar. Voltaea picks up a chunk of bread and takes a huge bite in an effort to seem as fine as she says she is. Her heart starts thundering in her ears again - off-beat - th-thump . She feels sweat beading up on her forehead and tries to wipe it off with her napkin before anyone notices - the others seem preoccupied with their food. Voltaea glances over her shoulder again, scanning the room for any sign of where that voice could have come from - it sounded like Alara, but she can’t be down here, can she? She turns back and blurts out a question to her comrades before she has a chance to think about it - “Mentors aren’t allowed on the training floor, right?” 

       Sarah shakes her head - “Nope. They’re not allowed down here at all. I don’t know where they hang out all day, though, but I think they watch us.” She narrows her eyes - “Is that who you keep looking around for? I thought you said you weren’t scared of her?” Coulomb stops eating, giving them both a concerned look. 

       “I’m not scared! I just…” a low, static buzz starts to rise in Voltaea’s ear as she wracks her brain for a believable excuse - “Someone in here just sounds like her, it was weird - that’s all.” 

       Coulomb pipes up, mouth half-full - “V’s just sensitive to noises, don’t worry about her. It might even be helpful for us when we’re in the arena.” He gives her a small wink - that was actually a really good deflection. Did I tell him that? Or did he just figure it out?

       “Helpful how? Like can you hear what people are saying from far away?” Sarah looks almost excited now - that’s better than suspicious - “Can you eavesdrop on the other tables for us?!” 

       “No, nothing like that. I have a really hard time making out what people are saying if too many of them talk at once. It’s more like certain other sounds stand out more to me.” She closes her eyes for a moment, focusing on the humming of the lights overhead. They’re almost a unified chorus - almost - but she notices one has a slight whine to it. She points upward “There - two lights back and to the left from the one right above us. If you watch long enough, that light will probably start flickering - or maybe dimming, depending on what type of bulb it is. It’s starting to wear out.” 

       Sarah and Bashir both turn to look - sure enough, after about a minute, the light flickers. Bashir turns back and mutters “How did you notice that?” 

       “The other ones hum, that one has a whine to it. You can probably hear it too if you pay attention. I just… can’t really tune things out like most people do. Not without tuning everything out at once.” Voltaea shifts uncomfortably in her seat as the others tilt their heads to the ceiling, trying to listen. 

       “Okay, yeah! I do kind of hear it now that you’ve pointed it out.” Sarah looks back at her - “It’s still pretty cool that you notice that shit without even trying - I bet you’ll be the first one to know if they stick the mutts on us.” She curls her hands into claws and makes a strange barking noise at Bashir, who flinches.

       He drops his gaze back to the plate in front of him and whispers - “I don’t wanna think about mutts - nothing scared me more when we had to watch the Games back home than those.” 

       “Ah shit, sorry bud. I didn’t mean to freak you out.” Sarah pats him on the shoulder. “I promise I’ll take ‘em down if any get close, alright? But hopefully Sparky warns us quick enough that we outrun them.” 

       Voltaea nods - “I’ll do my best.” she looks to Coulomb - “Though before we drop this - we should have a sign for mutts. In case we need to warn each other quietly.” 

       He makes the same goofy clawing motion that Sarah had before - “I mean - this is pretty clear right? Just leave out the barking.” 

       “I’ll definitely remember that one, at least. Gotta be honest with you guys though, I don’t know if I can keep track of all this stuff in the heat of the moment. I get the basics, but I’ve already forgotten all your signs for different people.” Sarah leans back in her chair with a slight frown. She’s not as quick to pick up on things - it bothers her. 

       Voltaea reaches over and squeezes her hand in an attempt at empathy - “You just have to remember the danger signs - don’t worry so much about the rest. We can always catch you up on any details once we’re out of harm's way.” 

       “Alright, deal.” Sarah twists her hand around to shake Voltaea’s - “I’ll trust you guys to keep me in the loop.”  

       They spend the rest of lunch practicing some of their basic warning signs with Sarah - Attacker, Trap, Mutts, Quiet, Run, Hide, Fight. It’s enough that by the end of it Voltaea is confident that Sarah won’t signal her to do the wrong thing at the wrong moment, at least. When they head back to their afternoon session - she notices Cymbria at a distant table staring straight at them. A chill runs up her spine - How long have you been watching us? And what have you figured out? She makes a mental note to talk to Coulomb later about not practicing their secret signals so publicly - even if Cymbria couldn’t hear what they were saying, she’s likely aware that they’re doing something - and she’d rather not give her any more details than they already have. 

       As they walk back into the training room, Sarah stops them - pointing at a station that they haven’t been to yet - the one I’ve been avoiding . “Hey Sparky - you said you knew a lot about traps, right? Maybe you can show us a thing or two.” 

       Voltaea remembers Alara’s instructions from breakfast - “ Don’t reveal all your secrets to the competition.” She shakes her head - “I don’t think it’s a good idea… someone might see what we’re doing. Let’s find something else.” 

       “Awww, come on! I showed you my tricks earlier - it’s only fair.” She loops her arm through Voltaea’s elbow and starts dragging her towards the trapping station before she can protest, Coulomb and Bashir follow close behind. “And if you show us now, we’ll be able to help you find what you need to make them once we’re in there. The gamemakers might even leave us a little present at the cornucopia if you manage to impress them enough.” I was going to save that for the private sessions… but she has a point.

       The instructor is leaning up against the wall with his eyes closed - Is he asleep? Has nobody else been here today? She looks around the station and sees that there’s all sorts of rope, wire, cables, bits of glass, assorted scraps of metal - even a car battery. That catches her eye the most. She recognizes it from when Markus showed her the inner workings of their work truck - he’s one of the few people in Five allowed to use a vehicle regularly because of the nature of their work - with extensive supervision, of course . Alara’s words from earlier ring out in the back of her mind again - “ Look for clues to the arena, the Gamemakers love foreshadowing.” She looks around again, closer this time. This time she notes the distinct lack of naturally occurring materials anywhere at the station - it’s all man-made things for the most part, apart from some rocks piled up in a box near the trainer. So what does that mean for where we’re going? Nothing natural, lots of scrap metal. A junkyard, maybe? A city? I don’t think they’re sending us to the woods this year, that’s all I can say for certain. She opts to keep her speculation to herself for now but her mind buzzes with the familiar thrill of having a new puzzle to solve. 

       Voltaea glances back at the trainer - he doesn’t seem to have moved at all - very useful, thanks . Sarah goes to tap him on the shoulder and she motions for her to stop - “We’ll wake him if we need something, for now just sit, I’ll grab some materials.” She spends a few minutes gathering up materials - it’s like every time she turns around she sees something new and interesting to work with - They even have magnets! The selection here is wider than any she’s had access to before, even with help from her coworkers bringing her supplies to practice with - it’s like this place was made for me ! A huge grin forms on her lips - if we have access to even half of this stuff in the arena I could have so much fun . There’s plenty of supplies to make some of her deadlier designs - but she decides to save those for her private session - Don’t give away all your secrets . She tries to contain the growing excitement in her voice when she speaks again - “Alright, we have everything here to build an electrified snare I designed. We’ll start with that.”  

       She sets Bashir and Sarah to work building a tripwire - it’s simple enough to do while still being applicable to a wide array of her designs. “If we were setting this up in the arena, we’d want to make sure it’s hidden somehow - but this is fine for now. Tighten that end a bit, it’s too loose -” She’s not used to teaching, but they seem to follow her directions well enough to capture the vision she has in her head. She recruits Coulomb to help her with the electrical portion, figuring they’ve both had some safety training with live current from their schooling in Five - he’s less likely to fry himself in the process, at least. Within twenty minutes, she’s ready to connect the pieces - she saves this part for herself. “Alright, I’d stand back... just in case. I’m not sure how we’ll be able to test how effective this is, but -” 

       An unfamiliar voice cuts her off - “Seems a little elaborate for catching rabbits, doesn’t it?” Voltaea spins around to see the station trainer watching them with one eye open from his position on the wall. None of them noticed him wake up - or was he just watching the whole time? “Impressive work, though. It’s the most creative I’ve seen anyone get with this stuff today.” 

       “Oh, this isn’t for rabbits.” She flashes him a smile - it feels good to have someone admire my handiwork . “I have bigger targets in mind.” 

       His eyes fly open, face lighting up with excitement - he returns her smile - “In that case - I’ll be right back. I know just the thing you can test this with.” He walks to a metal door nearby with a keypad lock - punching in a code and leaving through it. He returns after a few minutes with a cart carrying a very beat-up looking training dummy, full of what looks like arrow holes and knife-wounds. “This is an old model we used one year for the target range. It actually walks on its own, single direction only though. They kept getting knocked over too easily - the balance was off - so we ended up replacing them with the ones on tracks you see now. Still - it should be exactly what you need for your purposes.” He lugs the dummy off of the cart with considerable effort - Sarah leaps to her feet to help him balance it a few feet in front of their tripwire. 

       The trainer pulls a datapad from his pocket, fiddling with it for a moment - the dummy’s face lights up in response. “Alright, it still works! Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll walk him forward.” Voltaea connects the circuit she made with the battery to the rest of the device - listening for the tell-tale hum and crackle of live current. She hears the wires singing their familiar tune in response - here goes nothing . 

       She gives the trainer a thumbs up - “Do it.” He presses down on the datapad and the dummy lurches forward. One step, then two - then - a loud CRACK pierces through the room as the dummy steps into the tripwire and the snare snaps around its legs, pulling it upward until it dangles helplessly above the ground. Smoke starts to rise from where the wire touches it - it reeks of burning plastic - she can see where the current has singed its legs. Voltaea lets out a triumphant scream - “YES! That’s PERFECT!” she starts laughing - she can’t contain it - this is too good! The trainer moves to quickly cut off the power supply before the dummy catches fire - but it works! Better than I could have hoped!

      She feels Sarah’s enormous hand slap her on the shoulder - “Nice work, Sparky! You killed it - or at least knocked it out.” the girl from Seven chuckles along with her - “I think you might be the loud one now, though.” Voltaea claps a hand over her mouth - Oh shit, calm down - she takes a deep breath through her nose as she looks around the room to see how much of a scene she’s made. There’s a few tributes staring in their direction now - Cymbria, one of the twins, and both tributes from Two have all stopped what they were doing to see what the commotion is about - oops. She locks eyes with Cymbria, who winks at her before turning back to her sidekick - that could be a problem. Sarah leans down and whispers - too loudly - in her ear “Don’t worry about them, you’re gonna have ‘em all so worried about looking for tripwires that they won’t see me coming with my axe.” Fair point… but still… I might have given away a little too much. 

       Voltaea decides she’d better not do anything else too attention-grabbing for the rest of today - back to the basics, remember Alara’s rules. “Maybe we should go work on first aid? There’s too many eyes on us here…” she whispers to the rest of the group. Bashir and Coulomb nod in agreement, but Sarah looks disappointed. 

       “But we were just starting to have fun  - “ Bashir tugs at her arm, standing up and attempting to drag her up with him. She sighs - “Fine. But I wanna come back tomorrow, I barely learned anything.” 

       “I’ll see if I can get permission for some extra gear to play with if you do - ” The trainer pipes up from behind them when they turn to leave “- I don’t get a lot of interest over here, and that was quite a show.” - Voltaea waves to him with a smile as they walk off. Maybe we drew some positive attention too? I hope…

       The rest of the afternoon flies by in a blur - the excitement of her success fuels her racing thoughts. I hope I’ve impressed the Gamemakers… and Alara… and gods, I hope I’ve learned enough by the end of this to win. She barely registers the chatter between her companions as they work through the basics of first aid with their new trainer, it takes all of the focus she has left just to get through. Bashir seems to be the best with suturing - Coulomb takes to building a splint - Sarah mostly goofs off, pretending to be a pirate as she makes herself an eyepatch-style bandage. She nods along, laughing when the others do - but her mind is elsewhere. She checks over her shoulder periodically, to see if Cymbria is still watching them - she’s occupied with teaching her sidekick how to wield a knife properly. She likes those, doesn’t she? 

       Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the intercom crackles to life overhead - “Tributes should return to their District quarters in five minutes.” The trainer motions for them to put their supplies away - it’s been a productive day, all things considered.

       Voltaea turns to say her goodbyes to her companions - but it’s just Sarah standing there - “Wait, where’d Bashir go?” 

       She laughs - “Oh, he bailed the second the intercom went off. I think he went upstairs already.” Before Voltaea can say anything else, Sarah pulls her into a rib-crushing hug - she’s really warm… and I can barely breathe - “You guys have been great, though. Just don’t forget to make things official with your mentor tonight - we can pool sponsor funds if you do.” Voltaea feels her face burn in response - it’s nice to make friends. Even if I can't keep them. She releases Voltaea and does the same to Coulomb, less crushing - she’s careful with him.

       Voltaea is still trying to catch her breath, but manages to squeak out - “I won’t forget - see you tomorrow?” 

       “Definitely. Enjoy your night, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Sarah waves as she walks off towards the elevator, leaving her and Coulomb behind in the training room. They spend a few minutes helping the trainer clean up their station - a task that their allies conveniently left without doing - thanks a bunch, guys . When they finish, the two of them head up the elevator together - Coulomb chattering away about how excited he is for dinner and to tell ‘Mr. Orville’ all about how well he did with teaching them their code today. Voltaea just smiles at him, there’s only one person she’s excited to see right now and it’s definitely not the chirpy man with the awful suits. I just hope she’s proud of me… 

       The elevator chimes and the doors slide open, Coulomb sprints out ahead of her as she lags behind - looking around the main living area for any sign of Alara. All she sees is Orville and his avox chatting next to the bar - he waves at the two of them as they enter the room. “Mr. Orville! We did so much cool stuff in training today! I -” Orville scrunches his nose up when Coulomb closes the gap between them.

       Before Coulomb can finish his thought, Orville chirps - “You need to shower , my young friend - you’re covered in sweat and you smell of burnt plastic.” My bad. The boy’s face sinks - Orville pats him gingerly on the head - “But you can tell me all about your day as soon as you’re cleaned up alright?” Coulomb nods, taking off down the hallway to his room as Orville grabs a napkin from the counter to wipe his hand off. He turns to Voltaea - “You should probably have one too before Alara gets back -”

       “She’s not here?” Voltaea cuts him off, her heart pounding into her throat again - Why isn’t she back yet? “Do you know when she’ll be here?” 

       “I… I’m not sure, exactly. But I wouldn’t worry - she’ll turn up soon enough. I can show you to your room if you’d like.” He moves from behind the bar, but Voltaea holds up a hand to stop him. 

       “It’s fine. I know where I’m going.” She slips out of the room and down the hall towards Alara’s suite before he can protest, I’m sure she won’t mind me using her shower again. She breathes a sigh of relief as she enters - the familiar smell of cherry-blossom and rose tinged with stale smoke is comforting, even without Alara’s presence. The television is still running - does she always leave that on? Her power bill must be absurd. Maybe they don’t have power bills in the Capitol? A talk show that she doesn’t recognize hums along softly with the rapid beating of her heart. She closes her eyes - taking a moment to breathe it all in before heading to the bathroom - I hope she comes back soon.

       The bathroom is quieter - Voltaea can hear the static in her ears again. She opens the shower, spinning the handle for hot water before stripping off her sweat-soaked training outfit and discarding it in a corner of the room. She jumps into the shower before it has a chance to heat up - cursing herself for her impatience as the ice-cold water pounds against her back - but the noise of the streams pattering against the tiles is preferable to the silence outside. It heats up far quicker than their shower at home, and she has to fiddle with the handle again until it’s a tolerable temperature - just hot enough to burn her racing thoughts away - Perfect. The patch slips off her shoulder as the water coils its way underneath and loosens the adhesive - it’s fine, I don’t need the edge for now - she leans over to pick it up and flicks it outside the shower towards her pile of clothes. 

       Voltaea starts humming along with the rhythm of the water against the tiles as she cleans herself. After she’s washed, she decides to sit on the floor of the shower for a while - leaning up against the wall and savoring the sensation of hot water on her skin - this is incredible. She lets her eyes drift shut - still humming, her heartbeat finally calming enough that she can’t hear it thumping anymore. Even better. It’s comfortable enough that she could almost fall asleep right here on the floor - until a loud slam shocks her into the moment once more. 

       Alara stumbles through the now-open door to the bathroom, slamming it shut behind her - “Voltaea!” her voice is heavily slurred, tinged with the type of venom she usually reserves for Orville - whats going on? She slides the glass door to the shower open as Voltaea’s heart leaps back into high-gear - shit, did I mess up? She pulls her knees up to her chest to cover herself - what did I do? Alara leans against the wall to steady herself - eyes glassy, face scrunched into a frown she’d hoped to never see directed at her. Her cheeks are bright red as she slurs through every word she says - “I have - hic - several bones to pick with your performance out there today.” 

Chapter Text

Mine - Alara

        Alara Vox had not intended to get as drunk as she has today - and she certainly hadn’t intended to end up on the roof of the training center with Ismene, but she’s here now. After a stint at the bar in the mentor’s lounge, her co-host had been very insistent that they go somewhere they couldn’t be heard by anyone else - in part because Alara was too distracted by watching the training floor to have a productive conversation. She’d agreed on the condition that Ismene detail everything she knew about her tributes and their burgeoning alliance. At least I’ve gotten some useful details out of her - perhaps I can still escape this without returning the favor. The two of them sit side-by-side, pressed up against the railing - passing their third - or perhaps it’s our fourth? I’ve lost track… - bottle of wine of the day back and forth. Alara attempts to stand up, slurring out “Ismene, darling, it’s been enlightening but it’s getting late, and I really must be g-”

        Ismene grabs her wrist and she loses her balance, sliding back down next to her - “Not yet - you still haven’t told me about your little spat with Selica. A promise is a promise, Alara. We agreed to a quid pro quo.” Alara scowls at her - she gives her a smug grin in return. “Oh don’t be like that, I gave you a rather large leg up on my tributes - the least you can do is let me in on some petty gossip.” 

        “Your little rebels would be dead whether or not I got those details, you know that as well as I do.” Ismene shrugs at her. 

        “Of course I do, I was there when Weaver was digging her own grave up on that Reaping stage. I’ve no illusions about their chances. And frankly, whatever you have planned will likely be less cruel than leaving them to the gamemakers whims. I’m nothing if not charitable.” Alara rolls her eyes - still clinging to that sense of moral superiority, I see - She takes a swig off the bottle and hands it back to Ismene. “But I still want to know what happened today, you owe me that.” 

        Alara sighs - she’ll wrestle me to the ground before she lets me go without talking about this, won’t she? She’s not sure if the churning feeling in her gut is from the wine or the weakness - she ignores it. She holds out her hand with her pinky finger raised - “Not a word of this leaves this rooftop, swear on it.”

        Ismene wraps her own finger around Alara’s - “Sworn and sealed.” She hands the wine back - “Now, don’t keep me waiting - I want to go to sleep at a reasonable hour this evening.” I’m too drunk to be having these sorts of conversations, but I suppose the cat’s already out of the bag.

        She takes a deep breath - and spills everything. The first kiss, the sleeping arrangements, the betrayal she’d felt at her girl’s flirtations, how Voltaea had disregarded everything she’d told her about training over breakfast, the scandalized reaction of Selica when she put it all together, her plan to reveal it all in an act of preemptive protection - it pours out as easily as the wine in her hand. Ismene is silent as she speaks - looking at her with something she thinks might be curiosity, or judgement - she can’t tell through the wine-haze. By the end of it, she can feel the tears running down her cheeks against her will - Weakness. This is the worst show of weakness I’ve ever put on. I look pathetic - she’ll never let me live this down . 

        Ismene interrupts her thought, handing her a handkerchief - “Let it out now, you’ll need to put on a stronger face when you confront her about this later.” 

        “Is this where you tell me I’m repulsive? Selica seems to think so.” Alara takes the offer, wiping her tears away and attempting to coax her face back into order. 

        “No.” Ismene gives her a small smile - “I think it’s sweet that you’re so attached. Tragic, perhaps, given the circumstances. But sweet nonetheless.” She places a hand gently on Alara’s shoulder – “But you can’t just let her disregard you like that, not if you want to teach her to survive like we did. And I for one would love to see how this all plays out if you manage to get her out of there alive.” 

        It’s not the reaction she’d expected to get - Alara isn’t quite sure how to proceed, or even if her words are genuine. Her face gives nothing away, and the alcohol has drowned her ability to think clearly - that much she’s certain of. She digs her nails into her thigh in an attempt to clear her head - “What do you suggest I do, then?”

        Ismene rises to her feet, steading herself on the railing - “You have to take control of the situation.” She reaches out a hand to help Alara off the ground. “If she has a wandering eye, make sure it wanders back to you. You have to take charge, show her you’ll fight for her attention! Don’t just wait around for her to give it on her terms. You don’t win by waiting for victory to fall into your lap - you have to take it for yourself.” Alara grabs her hand and pulls herself up, still unsteady - the Capitol skyline seems to spin around her. “It’s a strategy that’s always worked well for me, anyway.” 

        “I…” Don’t give her any more ammo than you already have - “You know what, thank you - for once, you’re speaking sense.” She lets go of Ismene’s hand, catching her balance on the railing. “I’m…” She hiccups, cutting herself off - she swallows back the taste of wine and bile that rises into her throat - “I’m very good at fighting, you know.” 

        “Oh, I’m well aware. I’ve been on the receiving end more times than I can count.” Alara laughs as Ismene rolls her eyes and wraps an arm around her shoulder to walk her towards the exit - gods, do I really seem so incapable? “I’ll walk you to your suite, just don’t lean too much or we’ll both be in trouble, alright?” She nods - easier than arguing. 

        They walk together in silence for a while - navigating down the stairs from the roof to the elevator takes every ounce of focus Alara has. She has to rely on Ismene’s guidance more than she’d care to admit, but they make it to the elevator in one piece. She finally speaks when the doors open and they’re safely inside where no one can hear them - “You can be a good friend, sometimes... Just don’t ever tell anyone I said that.” 

        Ismene laughs at her as she pushes the button to carry them to Alara’s floor. “You know that you tell me that every time we have one of these drunken conversations, right?” Do I? That’s embarrassing.

        Alara gives her best attempt at sternness, in spite of her slurring - “Don’t let it go to your head.” 

        “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The elevator lurches to a stop and the doors slide open in front of them. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Don't be too late this time!” Alara waves behind her without sparing Ismene another glance - I do have to keep up appearances, of course.

        Alara steps out, running her hand along the wall for stability as she enters the main room of the suite. Orville sits on the stool in front of the bar as his avox serves him a drink - he leaps up when he sees her come in. “Alara, I didn’t know when you’d be back - I ah… the girl went to your suite I believe, I’ve sent Coulomb to shower. Dinner should be served in an hour or so, if you want I can -”

        “Don’t disturb me, Orville. We’ll be out when -” she hiccups again and gags slightly, pressing a hand to her chest in an effort to chase the feeling away - my stomach doesn’t agree with this wine, does it? “When I’m ready.” He stares at her with a mix of what looks like pity and disdain and she scowls at him - he quickly turns back to the bar. 

        Alara makes her way down the hall to her suite, trying to ignore the spinning of the walls around her. Don’t let her off the hook - she needs to learn to listen - she needs to learn to win. I need a win. I need HER to win. She steels herself at the door, coaching herself through what she has to do once more before opening it. Ismene’s words echo in her head - “ You have to take control of the situation” - Alright. Control. I can take control. Her private quarters are in perfect order - but there’s no sign of Voltaea in the room. She scowls as she looks around - where did you go, darling? - the bathroom door is closed - We’ll just have to talk when you’re finished, then. 

        She stumbles her way to the bathroom door and hears the shower running behind it, leaning up against the wall to listen. It’s not long before she grows too impatient to wait - Perhaps it's better to have this talk while you’re least expecting it. Alara swings the door open with more force than she’d intended and a loud crash echoes off the walls of the bathroom. She flinches, coaching herself through what she has to do - Stop panicking, we’re taking the firm approach this time. If anything it’s more theatrical this way. She slams the door back shut behind her and clears her throat, attempting to keep the slur of drunkenness out of her voice as she calls out - “Voltaea!” 

        Alara sees the outline of her girl sitting on the floor of the shower through the frosted glass, shifting when she hears her come in. She stalks to the door of the shower, sliding it open and propping herself against the wall to at least appear steadier than she feels. Her girl sits in front of her, eyes wide - a look of pained surprise crosses her face. She pulls her knees up to her chest in a pathetic attempt at modesty - I thought we were past all this? It’s nothing you haven’t shown me before. The pain in her eyes, though - that gives her pause. She looks terrified, hurt - But that’s good isn’t it? That means she’s learning something. That’s the whole point of this.

        She narrows her eyes at Voltaea, frowning - it’s the only way she can stop herself from bursting into tears again - “I have - hic - several bones to pick with your performance out there today.” The taste of stale wine and stomach bile coats the back of her throat - she tries to keep herself composed in spite of it. Now you’ll have to listen to me.

        Alara clears her throat again, trying to chase that awful taste away before she speaks - “First of all. I told you several times that you should stay away from that… that fucking moronic girl from Seven, did I not?” Voltaea nods, but stays silent - frozen, with that awful, pained grimace staring up at her - Don’t you dare make me second guess myself with that face. 

        “And what did you do? You teamed right up with her not ten minutes after I left you to your own devices! I saw you - all of it!” Her girl flinches, she looks like she’s about to cry - don’t hesitate. “And then you spent the whole godsdamned day flirting with her, what were you thinking?!” Voltaea’s expression shifts - more confused than anything - No, don’t fall for it. You know what you did, darling. “Not to mention showing her all of your tricks at the trapping station, along with half the competition who saw you there - it’s like you haven’t heard a single thing I s-”

        Voltaea cuts her off - her voice cracking as she yells - “I swear I wasn’t trying to make you angry! And I wasn’t trying to flirt with her - she’s my friend, I just-”

        Alara raises her voice to speak over her again - “ Don’t lie to me, you blush like a tomato every time that girl so much as glances in your direction.” Voltaea opens her mouth like she wants to say something but Alara keeps going, her hands are shaking - steady, keep the upper hand . “And don’t get me started on Cymbria - if you’re seriously considering an alliance with that psychopath-”  

        “I’m not!” Voltaea slams her fists into the wall behind her, she’s shaking nearly as much as Alara is now. She sniffles, fighting back tears of her own - “FUCK! I always screw everything up!” She slams the wall again and buries her face into her knees. Alara sees her girl digging her nails into her scar like she’s trying to pry it from her skin. Every part of her seems to ache in response - stop that, this is for her own good, remember? They both fall silent - the only sound left in the room comes from the water hitting the tile, and a few choked sobs from her girl. Alara’s legs feel like they want to give out from under her - Too much wine? - She puts more of her weight on the wall next to her to balance herself. 

        Voltaea’s next words are half-mumbled, almost too quiet to hear. It takes her a moment to process what she’s said - “I just wanted you to be proud of me… and I can explain everything. But I didn’t realize I was messing everything up… Please,  I’m so-” she falls silent before she can finish her sentence. You remembered my rule… Alara’s heart races, her anger melts into something more… vulnerable? So you did think of me, then? Gods, have I overstepped? A single tear escapes her attempt to restrain them - No. Calm yourself. She hopes the steam is enough to cover her lapse in composure.  

        Alara had meant to shame her -  to make her feel the weight of every public betrayal so she’d know how much she’d hurt her. But now Voltaea just looks so small and soaked and full of guilt - shaking on the floor, looking up at her, still begging for her approval. You wanted me to be proud. That’s all this was. She steels herself against the churning in her chest - Then perhaps we try a different approach for this lesson.

        “Voltaea - stand up.” Her voice is as firm as she can make it. It takes a moment but her girl finally looks up at her, bleary-eyed and beet red. I still need to make sure you’re committed.

        “I… I’m not dressed…” She gestures at herself and Alara frowns at her.

        “Do you really want me to be proud of you, darling?” Voltaea nods - bringing her eyes back up to meet Alara’s gaze. She gives her a small smile - just a hint of softness, for her honesty of course - “Then don’t keep me waiting.” 

        Her girl lifts herself to her feet, slowly - she doesn’t break eye contact. She keeps her nails dug firmly into her scar - shaking with a tremor that matches Alara’s own - Like looking in a mirror . “Can I explain now?” Alara shakes her head - we’ll get to that later. “You know I wasn’t trying to make you mad, right? I really didn’t mean to make you think I was flirting with her, she’s my friend, and I -”

        Alara interrupts her - You talk so much sometimes - “I believe that you didn’t intentionally set out to anger me, yes.” Though I do need some reassurances that your heart won’t wander again. Voltaea tries to say something but Alara holds up her hand to silence her - “Before you speak, I have something to ask. Do you want our arrangement to continue as it has been?”

        She doesn’t hesitate for more than a second before answering. Perfect . “Yes - of course I do. I mean… That’s why I came in here…” Voltaea looks away to hide the embarrassment that’s creeped into her cheeks - you’ll have to be bolder than that, my sweet. “But I don’t even know what this is, and I don’t know what the rules are, or what I’m supposed to be doing, or what questions to ask, or -” 

        “ Shhhhhhhh.” It’s a soft sound - calm not anger, now. Voltaea falls silent - Perhaps it’s my turn to be bold, that’s what Ismene was saying, wasn’t it? Alara stands upright - still less steady than she’d like to be - and slips the straps of her dress off her shoulders. Her movements are clumsy, fumbling, it’s not quite the image she’d hope to portray - but it’ll have to do . She reaches around to undo the zipper in the back and lets the garment drop to the floor. Her girl whips back around to look at her - nowhere near the eyes this time - that got your attention, didn’t it? Good. Keep that on me from now on. 

        Alara steps into the shower and slides the door shut behind her. She slips under the stream of near-scalding water, hiding the brief flinch of shock on her face as best she can - it’s almost sobering, a breath of relief from her haze. The steam swirls around them both as she tilts her head back and relaxes slightly into the heat - steadier, but still trembling. “What are you doing?” Voltaea’s whispered words snap her back to the task at hand - she gives her a smirk in response, but no answer - that’s going to be entirely up to you, darling. Her girl still hasn’t looked up, she’s too busy mapping every inch of her body like she’s trying to memorize it for later - I hope you do, I want you to remember this.

        Alara takes a tentative step forward - no reaction - then another - they’re inches apart. Voltaea tries to look away - she reaches upward and gingerly removes the tie holding her girl’s hair back, flicking it to the side before guiding her back into position. Her hand traces downward until she finds the pulse point on her neck - it thunders against her fingertips. She traces lower, down the length of that magnificent scar until she’s touching her hand. She pulls it toward her, positioning it on her exposed hip - when Alara releases her grip, it lingers there - she doesn’t pull back. She leans forward, standing on her toes until her face is inches from Voltaea’s ear, and whispers - “Tell me - what do you want me to do?” 

        She feels Voltaea shudder in response - her voice quivers when she speaks - “I…  I don’t understand… I thought you were too angry…”. She lets her hand wander from Alara’s hip to her lower back and back again, tentative, exploring. The touch is electrifying - her own pulse quickens and she fights back the urge to close the gap between them on her own. 

        Alara pulls back - Voltaea’s gaze finally rises to meet hers, torn between confusion and longing. Push a bit more - “That’s not an answer, darling.” Her tone is teasing, she smiles as her girl flushes an even darker shade of red. “Give me a real one, hmm?” She strokes a lock of her hair behind her ear as she speaks. 

        Voltaea shuts her eyes, breathing a heavy sigh into the steam. “I don’t know how to say it…” Before Alara can rebut this, she feels the grip on her lower back sharpen - pulling her forward with a shocking amount of force until she’s pressed tightly against her girl. She braces a hand against the wall as another whisper cuts through the noise of the water. “I just want… I don’t -” Voltaea’s free hand reaches for the back of her neck, and pulls her upward into a kiss with so much fire behind it that it takes her breath away - oh, I think you know exactly what you want.

        She wraps her arm around her girl’s waist, letting her clawed fingers dig slightly into the base of her tailbone and savoring the small gasp she gets in response. Alara pulls back, breaking the kiss before her girl can deepen it further. Voltaea’s breaths are ragged, heavy, almost pained - but her eyes? Pure hunger . The heat of her own desire swirls in her core, burning her from the inside out - but there’s still something I need to hear - “Before we continue, I need you to tell me something else.” 

        The tension hangs thick in the air between them - Voltaea moves her mouth without speaking, grasping for something - like she can’t find the words. Finally, she whispers, almost inaudibly - “Tell you what?” 

        Alara lets her nails trace lower, until she’s gripping the back of her girl’s taut thigh. Voltaea lets out a muffled noise of approval that makes her absolutely ache for more. They lock eyes - she smirks - tries not to betray how much she needs this in her tone - “Tell me that you’re mine.” 

        Voltaea drops her gaze to Alara’s lips - she hesitates - swallows. An eternity passes in seconds as she waits for a response - praying to some long-forgotten power that she hasn’t pushed too far . Then finally, she hears exactly the words she needed to; “I’m yours.”

        “Good girl.” 

        Alara presses a searing kiss to her lips - then to the pulse hammering in her throat. She drinks in the whimper it pulls from her - soft, fragile, delicious. She steadies herself with a hand around Voltaea’s waist - “ Alara, I- ” Her girl’s voice fractures mid-protest as Alara kisses lower still. 

        She traces her tongue across her collarbone, just below the edge of the scar as her girl makes a weak noise of approval. A bit further, then - she trails gentle kisses along the water-slicked skin of her breast and feels a sharp tension rise under her grip - “Wait - I’m not re…” Too late, darling. You asked for this.

        “Shhhhh.” She doesn't look up, just exhales the sound against her girl’s abdomen - slow and deliberate. No more talking. Just let yourself feel. The tension fades as quickly as it came - she bends at the knees to lower herself further still. Every muffled noise of confusion - of need - edges her forward with more vigor. She shifts her hands, letting the sharper one dig in for support as she pulls the softer one down to brush between her girl’s legs - testing, teasing . Voltaea gasps - a sharp, startled thing - as Alara’s fingers trace her center. You’re more than ready for me, aren’t you?

        “Please…” It slips out like it hurts her to say. Alara looks up - her girl’s eyes are wild as they look kback, flashing between hunger and panic. Perfect. She smiles. Doesn’t speak - just lets her tongue finish tracing its way down. She flicks it, brushing lightly against her clit - a final test to see how much she needs this. 

        Voltaea makes a pitchy, pleading noise of surrender. Don’t you ever forget who makes you feel this way again. Her fingers tangle in Alara’s curls, yanking her in tight - desperate, possessive, starving for affection. She feels her girl’s pulse thunder against her lips and it tastes like victory - I win.

Chapter Text

Hers: Voltaea

         Everything burns around Voltaea as she presses back against the wall of the shower - the water, her heart, her nerves, the touch of Alara’s lips against her own. She’d asked for an answer - Voltaea’s only instinct was to pull her in and show her when her own words failed her. She tastes the wine on her mentor’s lips - she’s been drinking too much… that explains the slurring, but the rest of this? What are we doing here? Why won’t she just let me explain? Water pounds against the tile around her - the chaos of her heartbeat fighting to match the rhythm. Her hands wander over Alara’s skin as her own reaches out to claw at the base of Voltaea’s spine. A gasp escapes her lips before she can trap it there - not pain - something else, more fire.  

         The second Alara pulls away, Voltaea’s hands twitch with the urge to yank her back so she can feel that blissful heat again. What’s wrong with me? Why do I need her so close right now? The static crackles louder every time she tries to think - she focuses on her breathing but it’s just as out-of-tune - shit. Alara’s half-slurred siren-song cuts through the steam and the static and coils its way around her - “Before we continue, I need you to tell me something else.” Can I finally explain myself? 

         She grasps for the question - her mouth moves but no words come out - that’s not what she wants to know, she told you that. But what do I say? Alara’s stare screams confidence but her shaky grip and shifting eyes say differently - What’s going through her head? When she finally speaks, all she can muster is a whisper - a question, she hates too many questions, but what else can I do? “Tell you what?” 

         The nails in her back dig deeper, downward, latching onto the back of her leg - her lips betray her by letting another one of those foreign-sounding whines escape them - I don’t understand any of this. She looks to Alara’s for some kind of hint - all she finds is a smirk splayed across her face and an intensity that melts her every nerve. There’s something in the way her words waver when she speaks again that sends her thoughts spinning - “Tell me that you’re mine.” 

         Is that it? Is this a test? Alara’s eyes scan her own - too loud - she looks to her lips for clues instead. The bottom one quivers, almost fearful - Is she afraid? Is that what this is about? Voltaea’s hands shake, she feels them twitching against skin as they hold each other in place - Am I afraid? Alara taps her nails along the back of her thigh - she’s getting impatient, shit. - I don’t want her to go anywhere. I don’t think she wants me to go anywhere either. Her voice is steadier this time, almost firm - I hope this is right. “I’m yours.” 

         “Good girl.” Those words again. They send a shock running down her spine every time she hears them now - she tenses. Alara sears her nerves with another kiss, pressing her back against the cool tile - a sharp contrast to the heat of everything else around her. Before she has a chance to pull her closer, Alara shifts - not breaking the contact, moving it downward - the soft touch of her lips against Voltaea’s neck forces another strange sound to leave her.

         I’m an embarrassment. 

         Alara feels unsteady in her arms, grasping for support - claws dig into Voltaea’s hip - this is too much, no control - “Alara, I don’t -”. The protest dies in her throat as a tongue traces the ends of her scar, just below the shoulder - the usual phantom pain blending with something that makes her legs feel limp underneath her - pure voltage - Don’t fall, don’t go limp, we’ll both go down. She tenses - Alara shifts - her mouth hunting lower until she reaches her br- Oh. That’s where this is going. But I don’t know how to- “Alara, I’m not r-”

         “Shhhhh.” Alara breathes the command against her stomach and she’s struck silent. I’m not ready. Am I? I don’t know how this works. I- Hands shift across her skin again, clawed nails digging further into her back as Alara crouches in front of the most sensitive parts of her - too exposed, no control, stop making those fucking noises! Why can't I stop? She can barely hear herself think, or breathe, or keep track of her heartbeat - it’s all static, electric, burning shock. Voltaea looks down, Alara’s focus is locked on her body - she watches her mentor as she grazes her softer fingertips across her, downward, until - oh fuck. A harsh inhale, loud enough to pierce through the buzzing in her brain - it’s all she can do not to make that other noise again. Alara pulls back - no, wait, that was…  

         “Please…” She wants to tell her to stop, or not to stop - or both - she only manages the first part as the shock of that touch rips through her. Alara tilts her gaze upward, just long enough to lock eyes - she smiles - it’s the same one she gave her that first night on the train when Voltaea threw herself into her lap. When Alara had shifted herself underneath her until her leg pressed into that same spot that made that same fucking noise escape her. Voltaea had thought she was uncomfortable under her weight but now? She knew. She’s always known, hasn’t she? She keeps telling me I’m not subtle - is this what she meant? What does that make me? 

         A strike of hot, wet, lightning shocks straight through her core as Alara’s tongue finally reaches between her legs - Hers. It makes me hers. She doesn’t fight the sound this time, lets it slip out of her like a plea for answers - or maybe for mercy - No. For more. Alara pulls back just enough that she can still feel her breath against her, taunting her - she steels herself - Then I guess that makes you mine too? Voltaea laces her fingers through Alara’s curls - No resistance. This is what she wants. And I don’t ever want her to stop. - she tightens her grip and yanks her forward until her mentor’s lips press against her. A different sort of kiss. A better one. 

         The static clears as Alara’s tongue plunges forward - her ears pound with a rapid, thumping pulse in its place. She battles to stay upright as her inner circuits shatter under the pressure. “Don’t stop.” - her voice is unrecognizable - ragged, breathless, pathetic . A sudden vibration between her thighs nearly collapses her - a low chuckle, pressed against her - it’s electrifying. Her whole body tunes to the movement - every nerve ends at Alara’s lips and fires in unison. Her nails dig into her mentor’s scalp to pull her tighter still - to hang on, to stay standing, to feel everything. 

         “I wouldn’t dream of it, darling.” A muffled voice from below - then that laugh again - her head falls backward into the tile, limp and languid. A tight heat coils around her core - building with every motion - burning brighter second by second. She closes her eyes - What am I doing? What am I letting her do? Why is it so perfect?

         The sensation shifts again - Alara’s fingertips gently glide across her entrance while her tongue teases further forward. Voltaea stifles another whine - don’t do that! Alara’s voice vibrates against her in response - hard to hear with her pressed inward as she is - “Relax. Let it out - I want to hear how much you enjoy this.” How is she not embarrassed by me? It’s good when I do that?     

         A single, soft finger slides inside of her - she clenches - relax, she said to relax . A half-pleasant, half-painful burn tears her open as she cries out - too loud, too much, too perfect - don't stop. Her grip on Alara’s head falters as her whole body starts to weaken from the sheer, overwhelming feeling of it all. The tightly wired heat in her core feels like it’s going to burst. Every subtle shift Alara makes - her tongue, her lips, her fingers - drives her closer to the edge of oblivion. Fuck. 

         “Let go, darling.” The demand shreds the last of her resolve - the dam holding back that building wave inside her breaks in spectacular fashion. Her mind short-circuits - there’s nothing left but that delightful burning of nerves - the wet-hot lightning that consumes her. Alara stops moving - stays pressed against her while the wave subsides - her pulse throbbing against every touch. Her legs can’t take anymore, she slides downward - back pressed against the tile to slow her descent. Alara’s hand pulls free with a soft, wet sound to wrap around the back of her legs to guide her to the floor. She’s shaking, exhausted, completely derailed - that much she can make sense of. Nothing else sticks but the sound of her heart, her breaths, the splatter of water-on-tile. 

         It might be minutes - it might be hours - she’s not sure how long it takes her to finally open her eyes again. The first thing she sees is that self-satisfied smirk on Alara’s lips - her stare slicing through her as she crouches at eye-level in front of Voltaea’s collapsed form. She slams them shut again. What did I do? Oh gods, what are they going to think of me back home? My mother would - 

         “You can open your eyes, you know. I won’t bite - Not when you’ve done so well for me.” Alara’s voice has steadied now, throwing her a lifeline through the haze of her swirling thoughts. I did well? But she did everything, I just stood there and fell over. She opens one just enough to take in the sight in front of her. Alara’s lipstick is smeared slightly onto her chin - slick-looking, different somehow. Her cheeks burn at the realization - oh no, did I do that? She opens her eyes fully, to get a better look at the mess she caused, but Alara cuts through her thoughts again before she has a chance to get them straight - “There. See? You’re fine. No need for all this embarrassment.” Her smile softens, beaming - wet curls frame her face like a work of art - it almost hurts to look at her when I’m such a disaster . 

         They stay like that for a while - Alara looking her over, Voltaea reeling with a thousand disjointed thoughts - What am I supposed to do now? What are the rules here? Alara finally rises to her feet, grabbing a shelf on the wall to haul herself up unsteadily - she doesn’t take her eyes off Voltaea. Am I supposed to go next? How do I even do that? Her voice cracks when she tries to speak - “I’m s -” No apologies. “I don’t know how…” 

         Alara raises an eyebrow at her, reaching out her free hand while the other supports her on the shelf - “Just take my hand, darling. I’ll help you up.” Voltaea takes her offer, grabbing hold and pulling herself to her feet with considerable effort - still shaking, but slowly steadying as the seconds tick by. “There you go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Wait, that’s not what I meant. I know how to stand. 

         “I… um…” She struggles to find the words - “I mean that I don’t know how to… um…” She gestures at Alara’s still-nude form in front of her. “You know.” It’s like being shocked all over again - heated shame burns through her cheeks. A shrill cackle bursts through the rising static. 

         “Oh, you sweet girl - still thinking of me?” I don’t think I’ll ever stop. Alara lets go of her hand and reaches up to brush a strand of Voltaea’s hair off her cheek before caressing it. Her voice softens, song-like understanding - “Of course you don’t know how - but I can show you all my tricks later.” She pulls back from the contact, turning slightly so she can fiddle with the shower handle. The water cuts off - silencing the rhythm of the room once more. “For now, let’s get you ready for dinner.”

         “Wait, no. I don’t want to go out there.” The protest slips out before her thoughts can catch up - I don’t want to be anywhere but here right now . Alara steps toward the door of the shower, sliding it open - the steam pours out, replaced with a burst of cooler air that sends shivers across her skin. “Please? Can we just lay down for a while?” 

         Alara sighs, “Alright, darling. We’ll get ourselves dried off and have it delivered to us - but I don’t want you to get in the habit of skipping meals. You still have the games to win in a few days time.” Her heart drops into her stomach - the arena. I don’t want to think about the - oh! I was supposed to ask her something!

         “Speaking of the games, can you -” Her words are cut off by the sound of the overhead blowers as Alara flicks them on - excruciatingly loud. Voltaea flinches, stiffens - Alara takes it upon herself to reposition her so she dries off properly. At least it’s warm. Voltaea lets her mentor take control - it’s far easier than moving herself right now. When they finally click off, she tries to ask again. “Can you sign off on an official alliance between Districts Five and Seven? I know you don’t like Sarah, but I think -” 

         Alara cuts her off - waving a hand dismissively over her shoulder as she walks to the robe rack and starts flipping through - “Since you don’t seem to be dropping the subject, and I detest arguing - I’ll relent just this once .” Her words are sharp, but Voltaea can hear the performative edge to them - like Alara has to force herself to stop smiling. She feels a rush of excitement at the prospect - yes! She listened! This is actually going to work- “But - I have a few conditions before I say yes. First, make sure those brats know who the one in charge is - that’s you, darling. Don’t let that girl walk all over you - don’t give away your best secrets - and don’t be a flirt.” She puts more emphasis on the last one - That’s the most important to her. She needs to know she comes first. I can show her that. “I won’t tolerate disloyalty, not after tonight. Are we clear?” 

         Voltaea nods, “Crystal clear. I promise.” Alara tosses her the black-silk robe that she’s been claiming as her own since she’s arrived here - she nearly drops it - still not quite recovered from her earlier exertions. “Thank you… for listening to me. I can tell you about the rest of my plans now if you want, while we wait for dinner, and then maybe we can -” 

         A sharp sigh stops her excited ramblings in their tracks, Alara turns to her - eyes heavy, voice thick - “Voltaea, I have to stop you there. I am beyond exhausted this evening, perhaps the strategic discussions can wait until morning?” Alara pulls a blood-red robe over her, not bothering to tie the front - Oh, yeah. I should probably get dressed. She struggles to get her own on as the silk threatens to slip through her shaking fingers, but she manages. Alara wraps an arm around Voltaea’s waist, slipping it under the robe and giving her a tight squeeze that makes her gasp - “Gods, I’ll never tire of that sound.” I’m glad you like it, I guess? Alara chuckles under her breath as she leads the both of them out of the bathroom. 

         Voltaea loops her arm around her mentor’s shoulder as they glide their way to the bed - the familiar chatter of Capitol gossip plays from the television - it feels welcoming now - not new, comfortable. As they reach the edge, untangling themselves from each other’s grip, Alara falls forward into the plush mattress with a long sigh. Voltaea sits next to her, unsure of what to do next if she’s not allowed to talk about strategy. Food? “Should we call Orville? For dinner, I mean.” 

         Alara rolls onto her side - “Oh yes, probably. Give me a moment.” Voltaea watches the front of her robe slip open, revealing every pale curve - heat hits her like a moving train - she’s beautiful like this. Wait, I’m allowed to look now, right? Alara pulls herself upright and leans back against the pillows. Her mentor fumbles on the side table for the phone, grabbing the receiver and dialing out. It only takes two rings for an answer - she can hear Orville on the other end of the line. Alara’s voice takes on the sterner tone she uses with him - but it’s shakier than usual - “Orville - have your avox bring a dinner cart to my suite. Instruct him - very specifically - to leave it at the door and knock rather than barging in. I’ll retrieve it when I’m ready.” She hangs up before he has a chance to respond. “There. On its way, I assume.”

         Alara leans back into the pillows with a satisfied exhale, closing her eyes - as if that phone call had taken the last bit of her energy. Voltaea shifts into place beside her, unsure of what to do with her hands, her words, her feelings. Everything is still too loud — her heartbeat, her thoughts, the static. She watches the slow rise and fall of Alara’s chest - The glossy, slightly smudged curve of her lips falls slack. Something clenches inside her stomach - What should I do now?

         She reaches out, brushing the tips of her fingers along Alara’s exposed side - stroking just above her hips, where the silk has fallen away from her. It’s not even a touch so much as a test. Or a thank you, maybe? Alara’s face twitches - just a flicker, like a frown that doesn’t form fully. She reaches out in a flash, catching Voltaea’s wrist in her clawed grip - not rough, but deliberate. She guides her hand away from her body, then lets it go without so much as opening her eyes. “Let’s not ruin a perfect evening by overreaching, my sweet.” The words are soft, but they still hit like a punch to the gut. I’m sorry. 

         Voltaea doesn't speak the thought aloud, just pulls her hand back into her lap and fidgets with the other - What was I thinking? Garbled voices from the television fill the room as she looks back to Alara - her jaw is completely slack now - chest rising and falling slower and slower as she watches. Then a small snore escapes her lips, still smeared with dried red - Did she fall asleep? Just like that? Voltaea whispers, just to test - “Alara - do you want dinner?” No response, just another soft snore. She reaches out and gingerly pokes Alara’s shoulder - nothing, not even a flicker of movement. I don’t think I could sleep for a week after that. Maybe it’s the wine? Or is she bored of me? She pulls one of the bedsheets up over her mentor’s sleeping form, plants a soft kiss on the side of her forehead like Alara had the night before - I’ll try not to wake you up. 

         There's a familiar, rhythmic knock at the door - the avox, shit. I have to eat dinner. She asked me to do that. Her mind is so far from hunger right now she can’t imagine what she could possibly want, but vows to try at least. Voltaea sits upright - she’s sorer than she was earlier, like the day has finally started to catch up to her. She creeps quietly to the door and presses her ear up against it, just to see if anyone is lingering outside - nothing, not a sound. Pulling her robe across her chest, she opens it - she can hear distant chatter from the main lounge, but the hall is blessedly empty besides the silver-lidded dinner cart. She drags it inside, shutting the door quickly behind her - silently cursing it when the wheels squeak loudly against the metal axles. Alara doesn’t seem to wake up for anything right now - it’s a small relief, at least. 

         Voltaea brings the cart over to the couch, pulling off the lid and grabbing a few foods that at least look slightly familiar to her. There’s flatbread, meat, some kind of rice-cassarole with bits of green in it. None of it looks appetizing right now, but she forces herself to load a plate and sit down in an attempt to calm her frayed nerves. She grabs the remote to flip through the channels until she reaches Alara’s recordings - choosing an episode at random. The familiar voices of Alara and her co-hosts are a welcome break to the usual chatter - even if the other woman with the thick drawl sets her teeth on edge. 

         Dinner is a haze - she barely tastes the food she forces herself to eat. Her head starts to throb halfway through the second plate and she puts it to the side - this again? I thought this was a morning thing? I’m not even tired yet. She briefly considers grabbing the discarded patch from the bathroom and trying to stick it back on herself for some relief - that’s not going to help me sleep. I need to figure something else out. The last few nights Alara had given her a drink before bed - to help her sleep - maybe that’s the secret? But I don’t want to go out there… Wait, Orville! That’s his job. 

         She leaps up from the sofa and skates across the room to the phone, carefully lifting it from the holder so as not to startle Alara - she’s snoring deeply now - I’ll be fine. There’s a label near the top on one of the buttons that just reads “lobby” - she tries that one. Two rings - then a familiar chirp from the other end “This is Orville, District Five, how can I -” 

         Voltaea cuts him off, trying to keep her voice firm - just do it like she does - “Alara says you need to bring her two glasses of wine, and leave them by the door.” It’s the best she can come up with on the fly. 

         There’s a pause at the other end - heavy breathing, then - “Alright, I’ll have them down in a flash. Did she mention anything else - where did she g-” Voltaea ends the call before he can finish his questions - the chirping makes her skull feel like it’s being split open. 

         The wait for his arrival feels near eternal - she paces by the entrance, listening for the sound of approaching footsteps. Finally, she hears them coming down the hallway and presses the button to open the door. Orville stands there with a tray in one hand, the other raised to knock - looking very surprised to see her. “Oh, ah. I expected Alara, is she h-”

         “I’ll take those, thank you.” She grabs the tray from his outstretched hand and nearly spills the glasses in her eagerness - oops. Orville catches the other end to balance them. He looks over her shoulder - opening his mouth like he wants to say something, but Voltaea strikes first - “She, um, told me to grab these while she took a quick nap. Thanks again, I’ll be going now.” She steadies the tray in her hands and backs into the room, using her elbow to press the button that closes it in front of her with a final, mechanical hiss . Ok, not smooth, but that worked out just fine. 

         She brings the tray over to the bed - my side? I guess this is my side. She slides in - slowly, carefully - wrapping the silk sheet up over her exposed legs. Voltaea stares at the two glasses for a long moment after setting them on the bedside table. They shimmer slightly in the low light - she dreads the taste - but this will work. She lifts a glass, swirling it in her hand before opting to plug her nose and drink half back in one sip - it goes down easier without the smell. She waits - it worked quickly before, shouldn’t be long - Alara’s on-screen counterpart laughs at some joke she hadn’t heard the others say. More waiting. Nothing. Just a warmth in her throat and a gurgle in her stomach as it flows deeper. No sinking feeling, no sleepiness, nothing. She drains the rest of the glass - more burning - no relief. 

         It’s not working. She glares at the glass like it’s betrayed her. Maybe I just need more? It was a long day… She reaches for the second and downs it faster - this one nearly makes her gag, it burns stronger - the warmth in her throat spreads further out into her arms. Maybe that’s good? That means it's working right? She leans back into the pillows and closes her eyes, willing the exhaustion to come. Something. Anything. Please?

         Instead, her legs start jiggling against the sheets. Her fingers drum against her thigh. Her mind wanders to the sound of the tile in the bathroom, the way Alara’s laugh had vibrated against her, the unyielding rise and fall of her breath now as she slept peacefully just inches away. How does she do that? How does she just turn everything off? Why can’t I do that right now? 

         The minutes stretch. The buzzing in her brain rises over the sound of the television - she squeezes her eyes shut tighter. It’s not supposed to be like this. Last night, I was out cold. Why not now? Was I just… more tired before? That can’t be it. I’ve barely slept since I got here. I should be unconscious. We did so much today. Her body aches from the training and the shower and the tremors that echo faintly through her extremities - her head pounds harder still - but she’s not tired, not enough for sleep. 

         She looks over to Alara. Her mentor has shifted slightly - curled onto her side, one arm draped over the pillow. Her hair fans across the cover, curls wild and radiant in the low light. Peaceful. Perfect. Her red robe is still open in the front — not all the way, but enough to make her chest seize again - enough to send her mind spinning with memories of before . Her breathing is steady. Different from Voltaea’s own fractured rhythm. I could just… ask her. She’d help me. She always knows what to do. She reaches over, hand hovering over Alara’s shoulder - But what if she’s angry that I woke her? She pulls back. 

         Voltaea takes a deep breath, steeling herself - It’ll have to do, I have to sleep, I can’t sit here by myself awake all night. She leans closer, inches from her mentor’s ear - “Alara…” she whispers, barely audible. No response. She tries again, louder this time - “Alara, I can’t sleep.” Nothing but another faint snore. She places her hand gently on Alara’s shoulder - above the robe, so she doesn’t shock her. She’s so warm - she lingers there for a moment, then gives it a gentle shake. The wine coils angrily in her stomach - or maybe it’s just the nerves . There’s still no response from the woman in front of her. She shakes again with far more force - “Please wake up!” - the pitch of her own voice nearly splits her head in two. 

         Alara’s eyes finally snap open, bleary with sleep, but alert enough to see Voltaea’s panicked expression hovering right above her. She’s just happy to hear the sound of Alara’s voice, in spite of the harsh tone behind it - “Gods above, Voltaea - do you have to yell like that?”

Chapter Text

Learning: Alara

       Alara has never appreciated being woken up prematurely - but something about the way Voltaea still lights up at the sound of her voice in spite of how harsh her tone is softens her rage around the edges. I’ll never get tired of that look - you’d let me slap you and thank me for it after, wouldn’t you? It’s too perfect. The warm feeling rising in her chest does nothing to calm the stabbing sensation in her head - why do I ever drink this much? Will I never learn? 

       “I’m s… I feel bad that I woke you up, but I can’t sleep. I’ve tried everything! I even had Orville bring me wine but it’s not doing anything but making me feel warm and stupid and -” Alara raises a finger to her lips to silence Voltaea’s voice before it slices any deeper into her skull. Valiant effort, but you’ve been taking something much stronger the last few nights than just wine. She keeps that part to herself for now.

       “There’s a box in the top drawer of the dresser, bring it here.” She whispers - her girl opens her mouth as if she wants to ask why but Alara points at the drawer and shakes her head. Blessedly, Voltaea takes the hint - practically leaping off the bed to retrieve it. She wraps the pillow sitting behind her head around it to cover both of her ears, muffling the noise of the room around her while she waits - eyes closed, deep breaths, lie still , I’ll have a fix for this soon enough . 

       The bed shifts underneath her, marking Voltaea’s return. Alara opens one eye - her girl is already looking at her expectantly. She at least has the sense to whisper when she speaks again - “Do you have a headache?”

       She’d roll her eyes if it didn’t hurt so much to even think about the motion - “Yes. Now open the box - find the purple bottle with the red sticker on the cap for me. I’ll need one of the pills inside it.” Voltaea rummages through the box, curiosity glinting in her eyes as she examines the sheer number of substances within it. When she finds the bottle she tries to undo the lid, struggling with the locking mechanism - I have no patience for this right now. She keeps her voice soft in spite of that - “Just hand it to me, I’ll show you the trick.” Alara pops it open with practiced ease “You have to press while you turn. Did they send water on the dinner cart? I’ll need a glass for these.” 

       Voltaea retrieves her a glass - Alara swallows one of the pills before handing her the bottle back and sinking back into the soft pillows behind her with a long sigh. As soon as she’s managed to relax, her girl pipes up again - “Do you feel better?” 

       “Give me time - it’s medicine, not a miracle.” Alara mumbles, waving Voltaea off and closing her eyes again. She can hear the tell-tale rattling of pill bottles and the clinking of glass vials - her girl has clearly turned her attention back to the contents of the box to entertain herself while she waits. I’m glad you’re having fun but could you do it quietly? She bites back the urge to say something snappy - don’t want to chase you off, not when I have you so pliable for me - and instead pulls the pillow back over her ears to ride out the onset of her headache medicine. 

       After an agonizing few minutes, the throbbing pain starts to recede enough that she can open her eyes again. Voltaea sits there on the bed, cross-legged, examining a vial of exceptionally strong stimulants that Alara reserves for rough mornings. “I wouldn’t take that if I were you - that’s much stronger stuff than the patches I’ve been giving you.” 

       Voltaea nearly jumps out of her skin - “Oh, shit! I thought you’d fallen back asleep. I was looking for something in here that might help me sleep too, but I can’t tell what any of this stuff is.” 

       Alara pulls herself upright as her girl slides the vial back into the box. She takes the whole thing from her, sorting through until she finds her stash of sedatives and takes it out. “This is the one you want.” Voltaea reaches out to take the bottle from her but she pulls it back. Alara shakes her head - I can’t let you off so easily - “Not yet. You still woke me up, darling. I’d like to make the time count for something. So you’re going to stay up for a while and tell me all about your plans for training - and how you plan to rectify your missteps tomorrow.”

       Voltaea’s face lights up like she’s just been given a gift - Gods, you’re adorable when you’re strategizing. Though I’d half-hoped you’d be disappointed I was robbing you of rest - I suppose this will do. She shifts position, laying her head in Alara’s lap like she had on the train before animatedly launching into an explanation of her thought processes so far. Alara’s heart leaps in response - she reaches down to run her fingers through her girl’s hair - I could keep you here forever, you know. 

       Voltaea seems unaware of the effect she’s having, chattering away wildly about today. She’d chosen a few allies she could stomach that weren’t completely hopeless - the boy from Seven is apparently quite a sneak, and the girl is more than capable with an axe - not the worst selection, though I still don’t like her. Cymbria had approached her looking for a ‘side alliance’ - that much she’d heard over the mics - but Voltaea’s plan to try and milk her for information on the Career pack’s weaknesses without committing to anything tomorrow is smart if she can pull it off - You’ll use her, then stab her in the back. Beautiful. Selica will despise that. The traps hadn’t been planned - Voltaea claims the girl pressured her into showing off - but she’d managed to catch the attention of one of the trainers with her stunt. The gamemakers will love it, at least. You might even get a little gift at the cornucopia if you play your cards right. The biggest surprise is how useful she’s found Coulomb so far - the boy has apparently come up with an entire, gesture-based code language to use among their allies. The audience will love the mystery - It’s a good addition to your brand. 

       Alara takes a brief moment to interject, “I’m a big enough person to admit when I’ve misjudged something - your performance today was more than admirable given the context.” Voltaea gives her a huge, beaming smile - a real one, not like the half-dead ones she saw her share with her allies earlier. That look is just for me. Voltaea leans to her side and plants an awkwardly positioned kiss on Alara’s upper thigh - she stifles a small noise of approval before she accidentally encourages her to go further. Cool it, Alara. Tonight isn’t the night for that. 

       Voltaea - blissfully unaware of what that brief contact has done to Alara’s composure - launches back into her chattering. “So, getting into my plan for tomorrow. I know you said not to show off my best trap ideas, so I’m going to keep those for the private sessions. But I do want to go back tomorrow and see what that trainer guy has in store for us - and to work more with my allies on how to set up basic traps. I can cover more ground that way - maybe thin the playing field a bit with their help.” 

       Alara nods along - It’s a decent strategy, but - “I have one concern with this line of thinking. How exactly do you plan on getting rid of your allies if you end up being the only ones left? If they know where all of your traps are -” 

       Voltaea frowns and cuts her off - “It won’t come down to just the four of us. They’ll either split off before that happens, or I will.” She seems resolute that this won’t be an issue for her - not quite the answer I was looking for. I need to know your heart is in this - that you’re willing to do what it takes to come back a victor. 

       Alara pushes a bit further, testing - “But if you have to, and trust me darling, you can’t predict what you might have to do in that arena - Would you be able to kill them? I’d wager you could easily take both the boys in a straight fight, but what about Sarah? You need to be thinking of these contingencies now so you don’t hesitate in the moment.” 

       “I don’t want to be the one to kill them.” Voltaea averts her eyes, voice barely above a whisper. “But if I have to? I mean…”  Alara can feel her shaking in her lap, pained frustration written across her face. She rakes her nails gently across Voltaea’s scalp to try and calm her - Best to come to terms with it now, you’re not here to make friends. “I could do it. I don’t want to die.” Voltaea looks up at her with fiery resolve in her eyes - “I’ll just have to plan three steps ahead of them.” 

       Alara leans down and plants a kiss on her girl’s forehead, “Do whatever it takes to come back alive, darling. Don’t doubt yourself.” Voltaea nods, mouthing Alara’s words back to her like she's reciting a silent mantra. “I’ll give you that sedative now, alright? We could both use the sleep.” She grabs the bottle of pills and the half-drunk glass of water from her bedside table and hands them both to Voltaea. She fumbles with the lid for a moment before it pops open and takes two pills out, passing one back to Alara and taking the other. Alara rests hers on the bedside table - for later, I want to check on a few things first. 

       “Tomorrow, I want you to take the initiative to approach that girl from One. Give her a reason to think you trust her - I have it on good authority that this is her goal. Let her think she’s achieved that, she’ll be more likely to let her guard down if she thinks you’re manipulatable.” 

       “How do you know what her goal is?” Voltaea shifts onto her side of the bed, trying to find a comfortable position. “Did I miss something yesterday?” 

       “No, nothing like that. Selica just has a big mouth and a tendency to brag when she thinks she’s ahead.” True, but not entirely the truth. Alara doesn’t want her to know they have ears on the floor as well as eyes - I want to know how you speak to her when you think I’m not listening. “Give her something tangible - offer a temporary truce, or tell her your allies weaknesses if you can get away from them for this chat. Don’t make yourself an early target by rejecting her offer outright.” Perhaps she’ll take care of your friends for you if you play your cards right. 

       Voltaea yawns, taking a moment to gather her thoughts before she speaks again - “I’ll see what I can get out of her without making my team hate me.” She pulls one of the sheets up over her and finally settles into one position. “I feel like I’m sinking.” 

       Alara reaches over to stroke a lock of hair out of her face - “That’s just the sedatives, relax into it.” 

       “I… did you give me this stuff before?” Voltaea looks at her - half asleep, furrowing her brow like she can’t quite think - “I didn’t feel like this with the wine earlier, but this is what it felt like when we had those drinks the last few nights.” 

       I sometimes forget you’re so observant… “You clearly needed the rest - I just helped that along.” Alara shrugs, keeping her tone as nonchalant as she can in the hopes that this conversation drops before it escalates. 

       “But I… you didn’t tell me. Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice is tinged with anger - That won’t do. 

       Alara snaps back at her - “It’s not like you’ve told me everything you’re thinking either, darling. You didn’t share a single one of your training tactics with me yesterday morning, or who you’d planned to ally yourself with - I even had to find out from your tribute files that your birthday is next week. At least this was to help you.” 

       Voltaea flinches at that - “Oh.” she shuts her eyes, chest heaving as she takes a deep breath - “That… um… I guess…”

       “Don’t try to fight with me when I’m helping you. Save it for your enemies.” Alara softens her tone, running her fingers through Voltaea’s hair again to calm her. “If you want transparency, you have to be prepared to give it in return.”

       “But… ugh…” She sighs, she seems too tired to argue about it - good girl. Just sleep, you’ll feel much better in the morning. “I didn’t even think to tell you those things.”

       “I didn’t think to tell you either. Now we both know better for the future” Voltaea nods half-heartedly, eyes still closed - Alara feels a tension she hadn’t noticed building release from her shoulders. That was close. One point to me for turning things around. 

       They lie there in silence for a while, until Alara hears the faint snoring next to her that indicates her girl has slipped off to sleep without a fight. She crawls out of bed - careful not to shift too much and wake her - sneaking over to her top drawer to return her stash box and pull out the hidden datapad she’s paired with the cameras. I have time to curate some of our better shots, I think.  

       Alara flips through the video feed from the door camera first - saving stills from the impulsive kiss Voltaea had laid on her this morning, but leaving out where she’d been the one to bring her in the room first - this will look much better if we play it up as your idea. One angle shows Voltaea coming into her room of her own accord, she snags a shot of that as well. The bed-mounted camera is an absolute trove of material - she hones in on the moment where her girl had tried to touch her before she’d passed out earlier - Perfect addition to the narrative - ‘She was just so persistent, wasn’t she? I tried to be professional, but how could I resist that face?’. She does her best to ignore the pang of guilt that strikes her as she saves that image. This is in both of our best interests, she’ll have to accept it. 

       She stashes the datapad back in the drawer before returning to the bed, chasing the sedative with the rest of the water and curling up next to Voltaea’s sleeping form. Her girl hasn’t shifted an inch - fast asleep with a peaceful look - like you know you belong here. She’d half expected tonight to end in a fight, or Voltaea storming off in anger once she’d realized what Alara had been doing with the sedatives. It doesn’t seem to faze her now - frankly nothing she’s done seems to faze the girl in the slightest. If anything, this is the closest she’s ever let a lover - or anyone, really - without her running away the second she saw behind the mask. It’s… an unfamiliar feeling, but not unwelcome. Selica doesn’t know what she’s talking about - I’m perfectly equipped to love you the way you deserve, and you’re plenty capable of making that choice for yourself. Alara drifts off to sleep with a self-satisfied smirk still splayed across her face.

       Morning comes too quickly. It always does. Voltaea is already awake, sitting upright in bed with her notes in her lap scribbling away and mumbling to herself in a voice too low for Alara to hear. “What are you writing about so early?” 

       Voltaea twitches, but doesn’t look up from her notes. Her voice is sharp, impatient - “Weaknesses. Blind spots I’ve noticed in the other tributes so far - the threats, anyway.” She drums her fingertips against the bedsheets, still writing with the other hand - you seem to be very on edge this morning, darling.

       Alara reaches over, laying a tentative hand on her knee - “Voltaea - are you feeling alright?” 

       “I feel fantastic.” She pauses her scribbling for a moment, looking up at Alara with her pupils blown wide - Did you get into my stash? Before she has a chance to ask, her girl pipes up again - “Tell me everything you know about the Gamemaker’s traps. I know you used them to your advantage in your games - I need details.” 

       “Let’s talk over breakfast - I need a few minutes to wake up and make myself presentable.” Voltaea shakes her head as she leans over the side of the bed and pulls a familiar-looking vial off the floor, tossing it to Alara. Oh, you broke out the strong stuff, didn’t you? No wonder you’re twitchy. 

       “Get focused with me. I already called Orville, breakfast isn’t for another hour.” For fucks sake, how early is it? Alara glances at the clock - far too early for you to be making these sorts of demands.

       Alara scoffs, frustrated - “Darling, you can’t just go through my things and take whatever you want like this. I -” 

       Voltaea cuts her off - “You told me to keep my edge, and not to doubt myself. I’m just doing what you asked.” Touché, I suppose I did say that. Still… “Are you going to take that or not? I need your help with this part.” 

       Alara lets the vial of stims roll across her palm - she doesn’t take them, not yet. It should make her angry, being bossed around like this - but it feels like something else. Are you learning how to assert yourself? You’ll need that to win. Let’s see how far you’re willing to push. “You’re amped out of your mind.” she says slowly, eyes narrowing as she watches for a reaction. 

       “And? Does that make me wrong? I know you need this stuff to function - take it.” Voltaea doesn’t break eye contact - her voice is measured, with a slight edge to it from the high she’s riding. Interesting. Do you think you’re the boss now? 

       “I don’t need anything,” Alara lies - not quite ready to give her girl the upper hand she so clearly wants here without a fight. She pops the vial’s cap with a flick of her thumb, tapping a small line of the shimmering powder onto the back of her hand. “But you need me sharp - I can respect that, I suppose.”

       Voltaea stares at her - pupils wide, breath even, jaw locked with tension. Alara plugs a nostril with her free hand and snorts - relishing the near-instant clarity the powder brings with it. Voltaea’s hand finds her wrist, pressing against her pulse - she can feel it hammering against her girl’s fingertips. “Better?”

        Alara can’t help the little gasp that escapes her - half from the drug, half from the touch. You audacious little brat, that’s one of my tricks. She nods, keeping her voice as even as she can. “Much.”

       Voltaea doesn’t pull away. Her grip is steady, almost possessive . “You’re not the only one who gets a say, you know,” she says sharply - still meeting Alara’s gaze with fire in her eyes. “Don’t ever drug me again without asking me.” Is that what all this is about? 

       “I was helping you! You needed the sleep - I could see it in your eyes the second I saw you on that stage the first day we met.” 

       Voltaea shakes her head - “No. You needed control. I get it. That’s your thing.” The words hit Alara like a lightning strike - you see right through me, don’t you?  "I was too groggy last night to think it through, but I’m feeling much clearer today. You’re not as good at hiding things as you think you are.” The statement should enrage her - I should put you in your place for that - but in her heart, it doesn’t. It excites her. That’s new. Voltaea leans forward, her face inches away. “You have to trust that I can make the choice for myself if I need to. You wanted me to be more decisive, right? This is me being decisive.” 

       Alara laughs - it’s meant to be a taunt, but it comes out too breathless to land the way she wants it to. “Is that what you call this? Sitting there, bossing me around like a construction foreman?”

       She feels the grip around her wrist release for a moment as Voltaea moves like wildfire - straddling herself over Alara’s lap and pinning her to the bed before she has a chance to react - “I want a promise. No more slipping things into my drink. Not unless I ask.” 

       There’s no room to evade now, no pretty lies to tell herself - or her girl. Not when she’s pinned with her entire carefully-constructed mask pulled back like this. Alara’s head spins with the sheer shock of it all. “Fine,” she manages, barely more than a whisper. “I promise.” Her cheeks flush, she can feel how red she looks from the heat of it all - Voltaea just smiles triumphantly above her. Fuck me, did I just lose? She tries to claw back some semblance of her dignity - “Would you like to go back to discussing Gamemaker tricks now, or are you going to sit up there all day gloating?” 

       Voltaea shrugs, that smug smile doesn’t slip an inch - “Gloating sounds good right now. We can go over that stuff later.” I can’t believe I let you get the upper hand like this. I walked right into it! She leans down and plants a searing kiss on Alara’s lips that drowns her defiance. She tries to lean into the kiss, grasping desperately for some kind of control over the situation - Voltaea pushes her back into the pillows harder. I taught you this. I gave you all the tools you needed and you used them to win.

       Alara tells herself she could take the upper hand back if she really wanted to. A calculated twist of the wrist in the wrong direction, maybe a barbed word or two to make her girl question herself - you’re not that heavy, I could throw you off if I tried... But what would be the point? For years, her life has been an endless string of stimulants, camera-ready performance - an occasional break in the monotony to watch her useless tributes meet their end. But here? Lying here with the morning light trickling across Voltaea’s sharp jaw, letting her claim victory on her own terms - Alara feels an obscene sense of relief wash over her. Part of her still screams that she should be afraid of this - terrified of losing her grip - but the truth is that she’s never loved anyone more than she does right now. If you can take me, you can take all of them. It won't even be a fair fight. 

       Voltaea finally breaks the kiss, rolling off of Alara’s lap onto the bed with a loud exhale. They stare at each other in silence for a while, neither moving - neither wanting to be the one to speak first. For the first time this morning Alara sees something like fear strike across her girl’s face - she’s shaking quite a bit more than she was earlier. Voltaea breaks the silence first - voice more tentative than demanding now - “Are you mad?” 

       She almost laughs - it’s the strangest sort of emotional whiplash she’s ever experienced. All that bravado and you still need my approval? Voltaea looks at her expectantly - quivering like she’s waiting for the hammer to drop in response to her drug-fueled fit of assertiveness. Alara shakes her head - “I’m more proud than anything, darling.” Her girl’s eyes light up like fireworks and she can't help but smile back - “You’ve never looked more like a victor .”

Chapter Text

ncompetence - Selica 

       Selica Vireaux is already on her third cigarette of the morning, and she’s barely been awake an hour. Hacking up a lung isn’t her preferred way to start a day, but listening to the egotistical little shits she’s been saddled with this year as they trade barbs across the breakfast table would have driven her to madness without them. Cymbria has potential, that much she’s still certain of, but after several excruciatingly long days of listening to her arrogant insistence that she’s the smartest person in the room - she’s not nearly as confident as she was when she first saw her file. Marcelus on the other hand? He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t get his nose broken in another failed attempt to play the dashing romantic. She’d managed to pawn him off on one of her fellow mentors - bless her heart, she had no idea what she was getting into with that boy - but Cymbria she’d requested to train personally. She’s starting to regret ever offering with the way the girl talks straight past her every suggestion with that smug fucking look on her face like she knows better. 

       The one redeeming factor is that she’s been amenable enough to smuggling a mic onto the floor - and an inside look at training day gossip always draws ratings. She can dissociate through a few more days of this for ratings - if she isn’t a winning bet, I’ll have that at least. A shrill scream brings her back to reality - Marcelus deepens his voice again to yell at Cymbria - “What the fuck is wrong with you!? I just wanted some toast!” He’s clutching his hand with a blood-stained napkin as she just sits there, staring at him like those half-starved tigers they keep at the Capitol Zoo.  

       “I told you not to put your hands near me again, didn’t I?” Cymbria coos at him, twirling a blooded steak knife between her fingers. “I specifically said ‘I will stab you if you come within six inches of me’. Did you think that was a joke?” 

       “Lucien, bring the first aid kit, would you dear?” Selica calls to her personal assistant, who hurries off to gather supplies with a quick nod. “Marcelus, stop acting like a kicked puppy - she did warn you several times to keep your distance. Cymbria - you know the rules about fighting before the cannons fire. We’re meant to be representing luxury and yet here you are acting like outer-district street rats! Completely classless.” She lights herself another cigarette off the embers of the old one before stubbing it out in an ashtray carried by a nearby avox. Cancer-causing cretins, the both of them! I haven’t even had to deal with the girls yet and I’m already through with today. Lucien returns with a canvas duffel marked ‘first aid’ in bold red lettering and she gestures to Marcelus to go with him. He mutters something under his breath as he rises from the table in a huff - “Say it loud enough for all of us to hear or don’t say it at all.” He doesn’t so much as look at her, just stands there bleeding all over her good cloth napkins - “That’s what I thought. Get yourself patched up and head down to training while the day is still young.” He scowls in her direction before stalking off after Lucien to the lounge area - “And stop sulking! It’s unbecoming.” 

       “I’m not the only one who’s threatened him directly, you know.” Cymbria’s cool voice whispers over her left shoulder - She’d been so busy lecturing that hadn’t noticed the girl get up, let alone get behind her. Selica doesn’t give the girl the satisfaction of knowing she’d been shocked. Her ego’s been stoked enough this morning. “He’s going to get us both killed.” 

       “Let’s retreat somewhere a bit more private, shall we? We can get you wired up and you can tell me all about it.” Selica tops off her coffee cup and hauls herself from her seat, beckoning Cymbria to follow her to a nearby supply closet. She pulls the tiny microphone from its hiding place under the cushion of a styling chair and tosses it to the girl - “I assume you remember how to do this?” Cymbria nods, turning away to affix the device under her shirt. 

       “Yesterday he tried to flirt with Cassia and she threatened to cave his skull in if he spoke to her like that again - he didn’t seem deterred.” Cymbria seems to be struggling to attach the mic, but she doesn’t mention it aloud - “Then he turned right around and tried the same thing with Tiber and he nearly knocked him out with one of those weighted foam hammers they have at the weapons station. The only one who seems to tolerate him at all is Mako from Four, and that’s because they’re basically the same person. Useless.” 

       “You’re worried the alliance with Two is on thin ice, then?” Selica frowns. Her own strategy in her heyday had been to pit her alliance against each other - it’s one she’d tried to pass down to Cymbria as well, given the sheer size advantage the Two’s have this year. That won’t work if there’s no team to play off of. 

       “I don’t think there is an alliance with Two this year! It doesn’t matter if Marcelus is with me or not - I can’t get either of them to spare me a second glance. They’re too busy ripping apart training dummies and chest bumping each other. It’s the most ridiculous shit I’ve ever seen. I have no team!” Cymbria seems to get more frustrated with every word she speaks. Unfortunately, you’re not wrong. I don’t see much cohesion among the pack this year. 

       Selica takes a long drag off her cigarette and blows a near-perfect ring toward the ceiling while she thinks of a decent rebuttal - “You have that little wallflower from Four practically eating out of the palm of your hand, that’s something isn’t it?” 

       “Nerisse? She can throw a spear but she’s a nervous wreck. Questions everything I do with that pathetic, scared look on her face, and -” Cymbria coughs heavily - “Do you have to smoke while we’re crammed in a fucking closet?” 

       Selica laughs. “Yes.” Cymbria turns around and rolls her eyes - oh shut up. “Say you’re right and a proper career pack is off the table, what’s your plan? I saw you trying a few different angles yesterday but - and I do hate to say it dear but you know I value candor - you don’t seem too popular out there.” 

       “The Tens shot us down outright, the loser pack twins called us ‘careerist traitors’, so they’re both out.” Cymbria finally manages to affix the mic properly and turns around looking furious.

       Selica just smiles at her, mostly in an attempt to keep that rage going. “Yes, I heard all that - and I’m almost certain I told you to ignore the Eight alliance -” 

       Cymbria interrupts her, “I’m aware. I ignored you because it’s stupid to turn down that large of a group when I could use them. That leaves us with the Five/Seven alliance, they didn’t give us an outright no. I guess there’s Three - but Three isn’t going to get us anywhere.” 

       Yesterday’s uncomfortable revelations during her chat with Alara burst into her mind like a gunshot. If she goes anywhere near that girl, I’m never going to hear the end of it. She’ll think it was my doing. Best to nip that idea in the bud before it grows any further. “Three will have to do, you’re to avoid the others. Too much liability.”

       “You literally told me yesterday to GO after the girls from Five and Seven for a side pact, what are you talking about?” Cymbria puts on her best impression of Selica’s accent to mock her - it’s a terrible impression - “‘Oh Cymbria it’ll be good insurance! They already hate your partner, what harm could it do to turn them on him for your benefit?’ That’s what you said, and now, what? You’re just backtracking on that? This is why I don’t listen to you.” No, it’s because you’re an arrogant little shit with no respect for your betters. 

       Selica sighs - “You said yourself that girl from Five seems to be leading that pack, and I happen to have quite a bit of insider information about her that I gathered yesterday - all of which tells me you’re never going to win her trust.” 

       “I don’t need her trust, I need her to use those traps she makes to take out the ones I can’t stab in a fair fight.” Cymbria flashes her a manic grin - ”And then when they let me into their camp, I poison their whole food supply with the present you’re gonna sneak in for me. My hands stay clean, I stay out of danger, and I don’t have to fight anyone I can’t beat.”

       Selica bristles at her suggestion - Alara will probably kill me if you’re the one who ends that girl. Or herself. Either way, it’s bad for my ratings. Having friends in high places has its perks. In the past, she’s had great success leveraging those connections to smuggle contraband that normally would be flagged before it hit the arena. With that in mind, she’d agreed to a trade with Cymbria to get her to wear the wire - information from the training floor for a small amount of one of her favorite neurotoxins snuck inside of her District token. “I have serious doubts that you’ll make it that far with her, or her allies. But since you seem to think you’ve got it all figured out - go ahead and try to win her over. I’ll be here to laugh at you when you fail.” 

       “And I’ll laugh at you when I’m walking out a winner.” I’ll be placing bets on your opponents this year, I think. Selica keeps that to herself. 

       She rises from the styling chair and opens the door to the closet without another word - Cymbria storms off through the doors trying to look like she’s not completely rattled by her lack of success. Selica allows herself a moment to linger before heading to the mentor’s lounge, sipping the last bits of her coffee as she leans against a wall and discarding her cigarette in the dregs of the cup. “Lucien!” She calls out loud enough for her assistant to hear - there’s a distant clatter as he drops whatever he’s doing to come running. She thrusts the empty cup into his hands as he approaches. Selica drops her voice to a whisper - technically what she’s about to ask is against the rules, no betting for mentors, though that’s never bothered Lucien any. “I need you to contact my bookie - we’re putting money on the girl from Seven this year to take the crown.” 

       He gives her a strange look - “I thought you liked Cymbria’s chances.” 

       “She’s insistent on walking straight into a trap in spite of my warnings that it’s right in front of her. I’m tired of trying to convince her otherwise.” He nods to her - opening his mouth to say something before snapping it shut quickly when she continues - “And out of my other options - I like Seven’s chances. Strong alliance, good weapon skills, great physique, and a total crowd pleaser with that bold personality. Not to mention those outer-district underdog odds? Very appealing to my pocketbook.” I suppose there’s another option, but I won’t give Alara the satisfaction of backing her pet no matter how smart she thinks she is. 

       “Got it.” Lucien grins ear-to-ear - “It’s a wonderful idea, ma’am. I think you’ve got a chance to make a fortune on this one.” 

       Selica gives him a playful smack on the shoulder - “Such a flatterer! You don’t have to brown-nose me dear. I know I’m brilliant.” He gives her a quick bow before scurrying off to wherever he arranges his backroom deals from. He’s a good boy, I hope he sticks around. It’s so difficult to find good help these days. 

       She pulls out a small device from her coat pocket, flipping it on and attaching her earbuds - she’s a bit too far away to hear Cymbria clearly through the static interference, but it seems to be working. Selica makes her way down the hall towards the elevator, sparing a moment to check herself in a mirror by the door - I could use more sleep. She grabs a tube of concealer from her purse - dabbing it under her eyes and blending it to cover the dark circles. But this will do. The elevator doors slide open and she slips inside, pressing the button for the mentor’s lounge. 

       Selica checks her watch - it’ll be at least another hour before I have to deal with Alara, though there’ll probably be someone else there to annoy me. She recalls watching Ismene leave with her yesterday after shoving several bottles of wine into her tote bag from behind the bar - Perhaps two for the hangover, if I’m lucky. Placing one of the earbuds back in, she can hear Cymbria more clearly now, and a soft voice in the background - Nerisse, expressing the exact same concerns Selica had just spoken about in the supply closet as the girl explains her plan. Your only real ally thinks it’s a stupid idea too, and yet you still press on. 

       The doors slide open once again - the lounge is only half as full as it was yesterday, so she isn’t too late to the party. She looks around for a comfortable place to sit, away from the crowd in case she decides to sneak in a short nap while she waits for things to pick up for the day. There, in the far corner, perched on her favorite wide recliner - she spots Alara. What on earth is she doing awake at this hour? Has she been up all night? Her co-host is watching the screen in front of her with rapt attention, she doesn’t notice Selica’s angry stare. I was hoping I’d have some time before we had to deal with the awkwardness of yesterday… but I do love that chair… She steels herself, striding over to the recliner - Alara still hasn’t registered her presence. We’ll have to address it sooner I suppose. 

      “You’re in my seat.” Selica hopes her voice is stern enough to startle her - Alara just shifts to the side without a word, tapping her nails against her knee to try and mask the aggressive tremor in her hand. “Are you strung out already? It’s barely nine.” 

       “Are you going to sit or just stand around being judgemental all morning?” Alara’s voice is shakier than usual - Or is she just nervous about something? Selica squeezes into the chair beside her. 

       She clears her throat before she addresses the tension between them - “I’m not going to apologize for yesterday. Your behavior with that girl is untoward.”

       “I didn’t ask you to.” Alara finally meets her gaze - her eyes are bloodshot, pupils wide - definitely strung out, probably on the strong stuff. Was the hangover really that bad? This is why I don’t join the two of them when they’re causing trouble. Irresponsible. “Or for your input, for that matter.” 

       Selica nearly says something snappy - but something about how fragile Alara looks right now makes her think better of it. “Then let’s forget we spoke of it.” She lights her fifth cigarette of the day and leans back in the chair. They watch the feed together in silence for a while, Alara shifting every few seconds like she can’t find a comfortable way to sit. 

       Cymbria’s voice cuts through the earbud louder this time - “I’m going to talk to them - you can join me or try your luck with the Twos. I’m sure Cassia will take great care of you before she crushes your skull.” 

       Selica looks over the various camera feeds until she spots the girl talking to her comrade near one of the survival skills stations. Nerisse meekly whines out in protest - “Oh come on Cym, that’s not fair. You said we were a team.” 

       “Yeah - and I’m the leader. You can get with it or go.” See? Arrogant. No wonder you have trouble getting people to work with you. 

       She watches Nerisse roll her eyes at Cymbria’s back - she’s already turned away to approach her targets. You’re so lucky that girl is a coward, or you’d have no one. “Fine, but if this goes badly, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

       Selica pulls out the spare earbud from her pocket and offers it to Alara, who looks rather confused at her offer. Her voice wavers, though she’s clearly trying to be snarky - “I thought you didn’t want to share all your secrets? It looks like your girl is walking straight at my tributes - are you sure you want to hand me an easy win like this?” That was before I put my money on a smarter bet - and I want that smarter bet to have all the information she can get. 

       She can never, ever admit this to Alara, of course. She’d very boldly asserted that Cymbria was a potential victor the very first time she’d seen her. She’d never live down the embarrassment - the last time she’d tried to admit she was wrong about something, Alara had held it over her head for three years. I’d rather eat glass than listen to her gloat. “Change of plans.” Selica gives her the best attempt she can muster at an earnest smile as Alara sits there looking insufferably smug. “Cymbria doesn’t need her privacy - she’s far too brilliant to let something like that hold her back from winning.” It pains her a little to feed into Cymbria’s ego like that - but it’s not like she can hear. “And as I told you, Alara dear - I have much more fun working with you than against you.”

Chapter Text

Buzzing - Voltaea

       Voltaea’s conversation with Alara had run so long that she’d completely skipped breakfast. Her mind was elsewhere - too many thoughts, too many questions, too much to do - and by the time breakfast had crossed it again she was already walking to the elevator with Alara’s hand around her waist and her song-like voice whispering last-minute advice in her ear. The anger she had woken up with had shifted into something more like excitement - she listened to me. She didn’t even get angry. Now if I can just get everyone else to do the same today…

       They stand side-by-side waiting for the elevator to pick them up as Orville’s chirps along to a potential sponsor over the phone behind them, having already taken Coulomb downstairs. She can feel her whole body buzzing with energy - much stronger than the feeling the patch gave her before. Alara had quietly warned her she might have some kind of crash later, but right now it’s the furthest thing from her mind. The elevator makes its familiar announcement - Ding - the doors open in front of them and they step inside, Alara waving over her shoulder to the staff behind them as they’re sealed inside. She turns to face Voltaea the second they’re out of sight with a sly smirk on her lips - “We have about a minute to say a proper goodbye for the day, if you’re feeling so inclined.” Oh? 

       She’d been worried yesterday about being seen - today she’s not even sure she’s capable of fear. I think she likes me more when I’m not afraid. I think… I might like me more that way too. Voltaea throws her arms around Alara and pulls her into a tight embrace, looping her fingers through her curls to tip her face upward - she barely registers the motion of the elevator as their lips crash together with so much force that she forgets to breathe until they part again. Alara smiles at her - she doesn’t want the moment to end, but - Back to training, focus! There must be something productive we can talk about. She forces her thoughts back to strategy, though her body is still catching up. “I… have more questions about the flamethrower traps.” We never got to talk about the fuel systems!  

       Alara just laughs, it makes every hair on her neck stand at once - “Of course you do, darling. But we’re just about out of time.” She shifts to the other side of the elevator as it descends into the training room, leaning back against the glass. Voltaea notices her shaking more than usual, but the elevator doors interrupt her before she has a chance to ask about it. 

       “I’ll make you proud today.” She whispers, as much to herself as it is to Alara. Her mentor says something she misses entirely from behind her as she walks out onto the floor, already scanning the competition. It’s like once she sets her mind to something everything else falls away entirely, for better or for worse - it’s almost too much focus. She spots Coulomb without their allies - we beat them here? I guess we did get an early start. He’s chatting animatedly with one of the survival skills trainers as they work to build what looks like… a shiny trash sculpture? She can't tell from this distance. He stops for a moment to wave at her, she returns it before looking back around the room - Two, Eight, Eleven, no one I need to see yet. Nothing to do but wait with Coulomb. 

       Suddenly tensing at the idea of having to wait , Voltaea takes a deep breath to calm herself. She makes her way to Coulomb’s side, trying to look more casual than she feels. He smiles when he turns to greet her, but his eyes look tired - he’s not sleeping well. She tries not to think about the fact that she wouldn’t be either if her circumstances were different, but it still crosses her mind. “Hey V, I thought I’d get started since I didn’t know when you’d be up.” 

       “What’re you making?” Up close, it mostly just looks like they’ve coated a box in foil and propped it open with sticks. 

       “It’s a solar oven! In case we have to cook something but we can’t make a fire for some reason.” He’s trying to sound chipper, but she can hear the note of exhaustion in his voice. “I’m almost done, then we can do something else while we wait for Bashir and Sarah if you want.” The trainer goes back to walking him through the process and she leans against the wall to watch. It feels unnatural to be standing so still, so she shifts back and forth on her feet and taps her fingertips against the wall behind her. Her eyes snap to the elevator across the room when she hears the faint ding of its arrival. Marcelus steps out, flipping his hair dramatically before looking around much like she had. He walks up to the tributes from Two, interrupting their sparring at the hand to hand combat station. She can’t make out what they’re saying, but he leaves as quickly as he came, looking defeated - The careers are fragmented, it’s not just Cymbria who has an issue with him. 

       Coulomb leaps up from the floor and her attention snaps back to him. “Okay! Finished! Wanna see how it works?” Not really, I just want to move. 

       He gives her a genuinely excited smile, and she caves immediately. “Of course.” Voltaea crouches next to the oven and lets him babble on about the way he put it together, and his idea to use the oven to prevent their camp from being trackable by smoke from the fire - it’s not a bad idea, if we’re going to hide out - though she’s not sure what kind of conditions they’ll be facing when they get there. She’s distracted once again by the elevator opening, this time carrying both tributes from Four and Cymbria. Her legs scream at her to stand up and approach her, if only to have something to do - not yet, I should wait for the others. The boy from Four immediately beelines for Marcelus, leaving the other two behind - so they’re friendly, at least. The girls look around before leaning in and whispering to each other - Cymbria looks frustrated, but she can’t see her sidekick’s face. 

       “V, are you still listening?” Coulomb’s hand waving directly in front of her face snaps her back to her immediate surroundings. 

       She nods to him - “Sort of.” She lies, “I just noticed our new arrivals.”

       He looks over briefly before turning back slightly disappointed - “Oh, I was hoping it was our friends. Anyway, I was asking what you wanted to do next?” 

       Every muscle in her body is itching to move now - the longer I hold still the worse it gets - “Let’s go climb something.”. It’s not that she needs to practice that particular skill - just that it’s the only way she can think of to get rid of the excess energy buzzing through her. She spares a quick glance at the elevator - they’re still arguing - before taking off towards the climbing wall, Coulomb’s footsteps scrambling behind her. 

       The instructor is digging through a box of harnesses when they arrive - Too much waiting around - Voltaea heads straight for the wall without the gear. “V, shouldn’t you have a rope?” Coulomb calls out from behind her. 

       The question sets her teeth on edge - ugh, don’t make me wait again!  She takes a deep breath to calm herself and shakes her head, “Better practice this way - I’ll see you up top!” 

       She pulls herself up onto the structure with ease, a familiar static drowning out the noise of the room around her as she focuses on the climb. By the time she reaches the top, there’s a pleasant burn in her muscles - a welcome relief from the buzzing urge to move she’d felt all morning. She looks down and sees Coulomb has only made it a third of the way, having waited for safety equipment. As she looks around at everyone else, she notices Cymbria and her sidekick making their way over to their station. She waves up at Voltaea with a serpentine smirk on her face, Nerisse chats with the instructor - I guess she wants to talk sooner rather than later. 

       Coulomb reaches the top just as Cymbria slips into her harness, sweat pouring off his brow - “Ok, made it.” He sighs heavily, shifting himself onto the wide top ledge next to Voltaea. He drops his voice to a whisper - “I think those girls followed us over here, what should we do?” 

       “We talk to them. I want to know what they know about the other careers.” Like are they even a threat now without a decent alliance? Should I be more worried about the others? She thinks back to yesterday - where Coulomb had happily told their allies his whole life story before they’d even agreed to team up - “Don’t trust them, though, okay?” 

       “I won’t.” They watch the two tributes scale the wall - well, mostly Cymbria. Nerisse keeps slowing herself down by looking at the ground below her every few feet, panicking herself - afraid of heights. Good to know. Cymbria ignores both her partner and the audience of two above her, climbing with purpose and reaching the top before the other girl has even made it half-way up - I was still faster. The thought makes her smile. 

       Cymbria slides onto the ledge next to Coulomb and taps him on the shoulder - “Time to go. I need to talk to your friend here.” 

       “I… um…” He looks up at Voltaea, questioning. 

       “You can climb down.” She glares at Cymbria, her tone slightly mocking - “Maybe see if her friend needs any help - she doesn’t seem like she’s very good at this.” Coulomb nods to her before shifting himself to climb back down the wall. 

       “Go back down, Nerisse, you’re embarrassing us both!” It’s not hard to get under her skin, is it? Cymbria calls out to her partner who goes bright red, hanging in place for a few shocked moments before rappelling down on the rope. “I was hoping to catch you before everyone else got here.” 

       Voltaea shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant while her heart thunders out of rhythm at the back of her skull - “You caught me, what do you want? 

       “Have you thought at all about teaming up?” Straight to the point then. 

       “I don’t think your allies would like you going behind their backs to ask me.” She’s not entirely sure they are Cymbria’s allies at this point, but it seems as good a time as any to probe for that information. 

       “They’re too caught up in their own bullshit to even notice me talking to you. And if you hadn’t already noticed, they’re all separated into their own little groups” She gestures around the room to the others. “- none of them are even bothering to pretend we’re training together today. Not a team I want to stake my life on.”

       Voltaea pushes her a bit further, “How do I know you’re not just going to turn around and betray us too?” 

       “You don’t. But I think you can recognize that there’s safety in numbers.” Cymbria points across the room to where the tributes from Eight, Eleven, and Twelve all sit together - “Right now they have the numbers - I saw them with Six and Nine yesterday too. That’s ten people against four, as you stand right now. And two of your allies are like twelve years old.” 

       She has a point - some of the tributes in the outer district alliance seem capable enough, with the sheer numbers they have it does put them at an advantage, especially if there’s no stronger group to challenge them. Let her think you trust her. If you want her to be useful, you have to give her something tangible - Alara’s words from last night echo in her thoughts - “Your math checks out.” She pauses, Cymbria smiles at her - “Look. I don’t know about being allies, but we could make a truce?” She reaches out her hand to shake Cymbria’s, leaning against the wall to keep her balance - “We won’t attack you, you won’t attack us. We’ll just focus on the others until the numbers even out.” 

       Cymbria reaches out to shake - “Done.” She grips Voltaea’s hand so hard she can hear a slight crack from one of their knuckles shifting - show off. “Now that we’re friends -” I wouldn’t say we’re friends… acquaintances of convenience, maybe. “What do you think the odds are that your traps work well enough to snag one of the dangerous ones?” She points to the tributes from Two, still wrestling with each other at the other side of the room. 

       So those are the ones you’re actually afraid of, that makes sense. “I mean, they’ll work on anyone who sets them off. The odds they do that are better if I know how to catch them off guard, though.” That seems to be all it takes to get Cymbria talking - she’s observant too, but she talks too much . Cassia has a bum left shoulder - Cymbria says she noticed it yesterday the one time they sparred, she can’t lift that arm above her head without flinching. Cassia had still beat her, but she’s convinced if she noticed it earlier she would have found a way to exploit it. That’s only going to help if we’re fighting head to head, and that’s the last thing I want. Tiber has anger issues, she’d watched him club Marcelus yesterday without hesitating - Easy to bait, if I’m close enough to make him angry. 

       Cymbria is even more over-eager to give her information about Marcelus. Heavy sleeper, snores, fights left-handed, good with a sword but not much else, eats with his mouth open, perpetually distracted, never thinks - half of it is just her listing petty annoyances, but all of it makes Voltaea think he’s an easy target if she wants to take him out. I wouldn’t mind being the one to do it - but that’s probably exactly what she wants. District unity plays better with the crowd than betrayal.

        A loud, familiar voice echoes out through the training hall - “Little buddy! You beat us down here today!” Voltaea looks down to see Sarah bounding across the room to where Coulomb stands below, Bashir in tow behind her. 

       Still too loud! “We should probably climb down before she decides to come up here.” Voltaea mutters, spinning herself around to step onto the holds below. “I’ll talk to them about our truce.” 

       “I’d hope so. I’ll be very upset if your friend tries to put an axe through my skull.” Cymbria laughs coolly - it sounds sarcastic but there’s an edge of threat in the words that makes her ears ring. If she wanted to do that, there wouldn’t be any try about it. I’ve seen her throwing skills. Voltaea thinks better of saying that out loud. 

       “I’ll make sure she doesn’t.” Voltaea starts climbing down, Cymbria rappelling to keep in line beside her - cheater. “We can meet up again after lunch if you want, but I should talk to my allies without you first.” 

       Cymbria rolls her eyes but she doesn’t protest - “Alright, after lunch it is.” They continue the descent, Voltaea moving more quickly as they go. She hears Sarah’s voice boom out from below her, but she’s too focused on climbing faster to focus on what she’s saying. Her palms are starting to sweat heavily, she has to stop briefly to wipe them on her pantlegs so she doesn’t lose her grip - am I nervous? I haven’t been climbing that much… not enough for this. Cymbria reaches the ground first - Voltaea lets herself drop the last five feet or so, just to show she can. 

       Sarah runs to her with her arms outstretched like she’s going for a hug. Don’t be a flirt, darling - Shit - Alara’s words echo in Voltaea’s head again and she holds out a hand to stop her approach “Don’t hug me right now, I’m sweating like crazy.” That part is true, at least. She hadn’t noticed it until the way down, but she’s practically drenched now - It’s never this bad, even working on a hot day. What’s wrong with me? 

       Sarah stops short, frowning at her - more concerned than angry looking - “Oh, shit, yeah you are. You feeling alright, Sparky? You look pale. Like more than normal.” Voltaea looks down at herself - her skin is clammy, less flushed than she’d expect it to be after a long climb - I do look pale. 

       “I feel great, actually.” Not entirely a lie, she does feel energized - focused, in control. But her heart hasn’t stopped th-thumping against the base of her skull since she got here, and the edge she had this morning seems to be fading slightly as the day wears on. Then I need to make some use of it while I still have it - “We should go talk to the traps guy. I want to see if he got us those other materials he mentioned.” 

       “Okay, yeah. Good idea.” Sarah leans in to whisper in her ear, briefly looking over her shoulder at Cymbria as she walks off to find her sidekick - “What were you talking to dead-eyes about up there, anyway?” 

       Voltaea motions for the group to follow her and starts walking towards the trap station “I made a deal with her - we don’t go after her, she won’t come after us.” Sarah opens her mouth to say something, but Voltaea cuts her off - “I know I said we weren’t going to trust her - and I don’t. She’ll kill us if we let her get too close. But it was enough to get her talking. She was more than happy to tell me everything she knows about the career pack - besides her and her sidekick, anyway.” 

       “Do you think it’ll hold for a while? Like is she gonna try and stab us in the bloodbath, or you think she’d wait.” 

       “I think she wants us to take out her competition so she doesn’t have to. The way she was talking, she's especially nervous about the Twos, and the big alliance the kids from Eight have going.” I hope I’m reading this right. “So… probably not? I mean, if she kills us right away we can’t help her out, right?” 

       Sarah shrugs at her, “That makes sense… I’m still gonna keep an eye on her. Just in case.”  

       “Probably smart.” As they approach the trap station, the trainer waves to them - he turns to grab something from a metallic case on the ground next to him.

       “I was hoping you’d show back up” The trainer turns around with a huge grin, hiding whatever he pulled from the case behind his back - “I had to pull all the strings I know to get one of these. But I think you guys might have a lot of fun with it.” He pulls out a disc-shaped metal object from behind him and Voltaea can’t help but gasp when she realizes what it is - 

       “Is that a land mine?” She’s seen glimpses of the ones the Gamemakers put around the cornucopia. Two years ago she watched a boy trigger the mines during mandatory viewing of the start of the games. He’d jumped off the platform early and the resulting explosion exposed some of the other, half-buried ones long enough for her to see what they looked like before the cameras cut away. There was also an incident she’d read about during her research where a tribute had tried to repurpose one of the mines and blown herself up in the process - so she’d written off the idea of using them for her own devices. It seemed like too much of a risk then. But now? If he’s going to teach us how they work? Her mind swirls with the possibilities. 

       “Yep - totally inert, so don’t be too worried.” I’m not worried, this is perfect! “It’s the same model they use in the arena.” He holds it out to let them all get a closer look - Voltaea is the only one who steps closer. “If you want, I’ll show you how to activate it. It still has all the parts besides the bomb.” 

       Voltaea reaches for the device and the trainer lets it drop into her hands - it’s heavier than I thought it would be. She turns to her comrades, beaming - “There’s so much we could do with these if we get our hands on a few!” 

       Sarah gives her a strange grimace, before looking over to the trainer to ask - “Is it safe to touch these once they’re shut off?” 

       “Yeah. I mean. Sort of. So long as you don’t drop it, shake it around, or put it near an open flame.” Got it, carry them carefully. Voltaea has too many ideas on how to use a portable explosive to let the warning deter her from trying. “You’ll also want to make sure they’re actually off before you go near one. The ones by the cornucopia are on a timer, but I’ve seen it fail in testing. Just look for the blinking red light on the side - that means it’s on. No light, no worries.” 

       “That doesn’t sound safe at all.” Coulomb mumbles from behind her, Voltaea ignores his protest - safe isn’t going to help me win. 

       “Yeah, I’ll be honest - I’m with the kid on this. That seems like a lot of risk for, what - a couple kills that’ll happen either way?” Sarah puts a hand on Voltaea’s shoulder and she shrugs it off angrily - Why is everyone questioning me today?  

       To her surprise, given how quiet he usually is, it’s Bashir who comes to her defense - “I think it’s a good idea to learn how this stuff works. We don’t know what the Gamemakers are going to throw at us - anything we learn here could come in handy there, you never know.” Voltaea smiles at him, he gives her a performative frown in response - “Don’t look so happy - If you want to mess with mines for fun you’re going to have to dig them up yourself. That’s not gonna be my job.”

       “Deal.” She turns back to the others, twitching with excitement. “Are you guys gonna stick around? You could practice the snare we worked on yesterday if you don’t want to mess with the mine.” 

       “I mean. It’s not live - and I’m not NOT curious how it works.” Sarah says, seemingly a bit less nervous now - “I’m not gonna help you dig them up either, though. We can help with tripwires but you’re on your own with the explod-y stuff.” 

       “Fine, but I’m gonna use whatever I can to get us ahead, help or no help.” Voltaea snaps at her, a little harsher than she intended - she tries to soothe her growing frustration by pushing her nails into her palm. She looks back at the trainer - “Tell me everything you know about how this thing works.” 

       He pulls a screwdriver out of his belt and hands it to her - “Here, take this. You’ll need something thin enough to fit in the slot on the side to flip the reset switch.” He points at a small opening and she lifts the mine to look into it - there’s a button. She slides the screwdriver in to press it - nothing happens. Voltaea opens her mouth to say something but the trainer holds up a finger - “Give it two minutes, there’s a safety delay.” She waits, fidgeting anxiously until a red light flashes to light on top of the device. There’s a distinct, faint hum of electricity that comes with it - not loud, but enough that she’s confident she can check if the mine is active by the sound it makes - that’s perfect!

       “So once that light is on, don’t go anywhere near the thing. Anything that moves over the sensor on top will set it off.” She nods along intently - “Usually they activate these remotely, so they can space them out and bury them. You won’t have that luxury - You have to work fast once you hit the switch.” I can be fast when I need to be.

       He goes into more detail about how the mines work - the explosion is designed to be condensed in an upward direction, so it doesn’t set off too many others nearby if someone blows it stepping off their platform. The sensors are designed to detect motion but they’re also sensitive to weight - so they’ll trigger for a small person, but not something like a bird landing on top. The timer only works with remote setup. The manual reset just sets the mine to active - there’s no disarming it to his knowledge. Voltaea is itching to get a closer look at the inside to see how it all works, and before he can launch into another explanation she blurts out - “Can I take this apart?” 

       He gives her a long look, like he’s weighing the risks of letting her disassemble his toy - “Sure. There’s a table behind me you can use - just don’t lose any parts. I’m supposed to bring this back in one piece.” 

       “Fair,” she’s buzzing with excitement, already rising to her feet. She shoots a look at the others over her shoulder - “You guys should find something to do, this might take me a while and there’s not much you can do to help.” And I don’t want to hear your muttering about how dangerous this is anymore. I’m going to make it work. 

       Sarah sighs - she looks more bored than frustrated now, at least. “Alright, we’ll make a snare over here while you do that - I think I remember most of what you showed us. Maybe. A little, at least.” 

       “I remember, I’ll show you again.” Coulomb says softly - Voltaea gives him a cheerful thumbs up before turning back to the workbench and laying the mine out on top. The screwdriver slips out of her hand, palms sweating like crazy still - she wipes her hands on her pantlegs again and picks it back up. 

       I’m just excited, I’m doing fine, just keep going. 

       She tells herself this as she begins unscrewing the panel on the underside of the mine, but her fingers won’t stop twitching. Every joint feels electric. Every inch of her feels sticky and every breath comes too quickly. The back of her teeth seem to itch as she works and she grinds them together to stop the sensation. Am I broken? Is it because I forgot to eat? She nearly forgets to breathe until the screwdriver clatters down again and she realizes the mine is already open, every screw lined up neatly at the top of the table - like her body decided to just run with the task at hand while her mind was occupied. 

       The guts of the device are simpler than she expected - an empty space where the explosives would be, a battery, neatly color-coded wires leading to the sensors on top and a small antenna tucked into the center - maybe for remote access? She taps a few of the components gently with the back of her nail - Click, click. It’s a nice sound, soothing almost - she picks up the screwdriver again and tries to remove the battery to get a better look at it - If I just loosen this…

       “V, are you still working on that?” Coulomb’s voice cuts through the static in her ears. 

       She jolts. “How long have I been working?” Her vision snaps up to the trap trainer, now deep in conversation with Sarah and Bashir over their finished snare. Coulomb’s hovering over her shoulder, trying to look casual. He’s not very good at faking casual.

       He looks at the clock on the wall - “It’s been almost forty-five minutes, we’re gonna break for lunch pretty soon.” 

       That can’t be right… She glances down. Her hands are blackened with grease. How did I get so distracted? There’s a tiny burn mark at the tip of her finger from where she’d touched the battery, she hadn’t even noticed it hurt. Her stomach growls angrily and the screwdriver slips from her grip once again - “Fuck!” She swears, too loud - Coulomb flinches and she tries to give him a reassuring look that just comes off wrong . It doesn’t help. The lights in the room are too loud now too - too bright. It’s like everything she’d been blocking out is suddenly charging back twice as angry as before. And why do I feel tired? Isn’t this stuff supposed to keep me from feeling tired? 

       Coulomb tugs at her arm - “Let’s just go eat something, okay? We can work on more stuff after lunch.” 

       She sighs, food is probably the best thing she can do for herself now with how much her hands are shaking - maybe it’ll help?  “Alright, you’re right. I haven’t eaten yet today.”

       “I know, that was dumb.” He states bluntly, Voltaea can’t help but laugh - it’s unexpected coming from Coulomb . He doesn’t seem to see the humor because his face is still contorted with concern when she looks back at him. “It’s not funny. You’re being weird today, V. Are you sure you feel okay?” 

       “I’ve told you guys like three times that I’m fine!” She’s not fine - she feels less fine with every minute that passes. Something Alara told her this morning worms its way back to the front of her mind - ‘You’re probably going to have a bit of a crash, darling.’ Her thoughts spiral as the realization hits her like a runaway truck - Oh no, is that what this is? Is that why I feel awful? Why didn’t she warn me how bad this would be?! Why wouldn’t she give me something to stop it? Did I mess up this morning? I’m not going to be able to work if this gets worse… I’m going to fail. I’m going to look stupid. 

       Coulomb sighs and tugs at her arm again - clearly unconvinced by her assertion of fine-ness. “We’ll grab the others and go eat, alright?” Defeated - No, not defeated, just not willing to argue any more about this - she follows his lead. As they walk over towards Sarah and Bashir, a dull ache starts to throb at the base of her skull. 

       Gods, this is going to be the longest fucking day.

Chapter Text

Birdseye: Alara         

        It’s too warm in the Mentor’s lounge, and Selica is sitting far too close . It would be easier to ignore the growing physical discomfort if Alara wasn’t already so tightly wound from the morning’s events - made worse by the drugs and the non-stop talking that crackles through the earpiece Selica had given her a few minutes ago. How does she tolerate listening to this girl? She glances over at her co-host, who seems completely at ease being crammed into the corner of the chair listening to the world’s most disagreeable tribute talk over everything her ally tries to say. Alara shifts her attention back to the screens, trying not to let the concern read on her face when she sees Voltaea twitching visibly as she nods along with whatever the boy is chattering to her about. Her eyes dart around the room, locking for a moment on Cymbria before her attention snaps back to the boy. She says… something to him, Alara can’t make it out on her lips and the mic isn’t close enough to catch anything other than Cymbria’s snark to her partner and the occasional chatter of a small group of the others attempting to make a fire nearby. 

         Suddenly, Voltaea stands up and Alara leans forward, trying to read her lips - she talks too fast, she’s too wound up. A pang of guilt bites her chest - none of that! It’s not my fault she decided to go so far off-script. She’d intended to keep her girl on a strict regimen with the drugs - enough to keep her sharp, with just a touch of volatility for a good show - Voltaea had tossed that regimen out the window . She’s been shaking, tapping, and looking around paranoid since Alara started watching her - her pupils noticeably blown out - it won’t suit our narrative if they know you’re hopped up, darling. You have to keep it together a bit better than this . Alara hopes the come-down will be enough of a deterrent to keep her in line - she’d held back on giving her anything to stifle the pain in the hopes that it would be a more effective lesson. She flags down a waiter for a cup of coffee - no drinking for me today, or perhaps ever again - and tells herself a comforting lie as she chases a pill down with the first sip. 

         She watches her girl approach the climbing wall, the boy a few steps behind her trying to keep up with her longer stride - right past the instructor, straight onto the structure without even a thought spared for safety gear. Alara feels her heart drop into her stomach and she lurches forward in the chair to hide the concern on her face from Selica - Idiot! Are you trying to get yourself killed? She catches herself flinching every time her girl shifts to a new hold - visions swirling through her head that feature every scenario in which she could fall off the structure and break herself into pieces. I wanted you to take calculated risks, not act like a reckless moron! She doesn’t notice how hard she’s digging her claws into her thigh until Selica’s hand wraps gently around her wrist. “You’re a mess today, knock it off.” Alara releases her grip, Selica doesn’t - she just stares at her, Alara flinches as Cymbria cackles into the mic and sends a burst of static through her earpiece. 

         “I’m not a mess.” Alara scans the room in an effort to find someone in a worse state than she is and with Ismene off elsewhere today, the only one she can point to is Haymitch Abertanthy - passed out on a couch in the corner with an open bottle of whiskey balanced on the arm above him. She gestures to him - “See, that’s a mess. I’m upright.” Selica rolls her eyes and pulls out her second cigarette in less than half an hour to light. 

         “Emotional, then. Or whatever you want to call this state you’re in - What are you so worked up about, anyways?” Selica looks over at the screen with the training feeds - Alara flinches again when she sees Voltaea hoist herself onto the top of the structure, balancing precariously on the edge. 

         “She’s being reckless today.” Alara mutters, shifting in her seat again. “She didn’t even bother with the harness.” 

         “Oh gods above, I knew this was going to be a problem! Alara, look at me -” She turns to face Selica completely, if only to take her eyes off Voltaea’s precarious position for a moment. “As your friend, I have to ask you. Honestly. You’re sending her to fight to the death in three days - How are you going to cope if someone comes at her with a knife?” Selica’s tone is earnest but the question makes Alara feel like she’s the one being stabbed. “You’re already fretting about something as small as lack of safety equipment - what are you going to do when she’s actually in danger, hm?” 

         She hasn’t thought about it. Not once, until today. She’s been so preoccupied with the idea of winning that she hasn’t had a moment to spare for how she’s going to deal with waiting for that to happen - or how gut-wrenchingly terrible it would feel to actually care for her girl’s safety in the process. “I don’t know.” She says honestly. “I suppose I haven’t thought about it.” 

         “You clearly haven’t been thinking about anything, as of late.” Selica mutters under her breath just loud enough to sting before taking a pointed drag of her cigarette and blowing it out in a clean ring at the television - she’s gotten better at that. “Then we have to figure something out, I can’t have you clawing yourself up like this on air. A little derangement is the core of our brand, but the self-injury just makes people uncomfortable. Too depressing.” She’s right. I hate when she’s right. 

         “What do you suggest I do, then?” 

         “In hindsight I’d suggest you maintain professional distance and hang your entire sense of self worth off the back of a volatile teenager you barely know.” Selica hisses frustratedly, Alara rolls her eyes - very helpful, thank you - “But in lieu of that… Gods, Alara, I don’t know.” She lights herself another cigarette off the embers of the one in her hand before flicking the remains into her empty glass. “Perhaps work something relaxing into your routine. I can slip you something for the anxiety before you have to be on camera, at least.” I’ll probably need it. 

         She opens her mouth to say something when Cymbria’s voice echoes against her eardrum again - this time saying something that catches her interest - “Look, we’ll just climb up and talk to her there. Her friends aren’t here yet, it’s the perfect time.” 

         “Cym, I told you. I don’t like heights. Can’t we just wait ‘till she comes down?” The sidekick is a bit of a coward, isn’t she? Cymbria doesn’t entertain her with a verbal response. Alara’s eyes scan across the various feeds until she sees the two girls walking up to the climbing wall, both stopping to do the sensible thing and wear harnesses. Voltaea sits at the top, watching the two of them intently - Alara can see her mouth moving, but she must be whispering because the mics don’t pick it up. 

         Selica mutters something under her breath but the only part Alara catches is ‘distractable’ - she ignores her. Cymbria’s a far more competent climber than her partner, but she’s still a lot slower than Voltaea or the boy had been. That’s one point to you today, at least. She reaches the top - breathing heavily enough for the mic to pick up - and immediately ushers the boy away. Voltaea backs her up, sending Coulomb down the wall - though she slides in a snide remark about Cymbria’s sidekick that makes her snap a bit. Don’t push too hard. Just remember what we talked about darling, don’t alienate her - find a way to use her. Alara drums her nails against the arm of the chair, trying to chase the last errant thoughts of Voltaea falling off the wall out of her mind with something more strategic. 

         Cymbria shifts herself to Voltaea’s side - Alara leans forward to extract herself from Selica’s still-sharp grip on her wrist and get a closer look. They verbally spar for a while - Cymbria even goes so far as to propose a formal alliance - that part surprises her. Her girl had mentioned friction with the careers, but she hadn’t expected outright betrayals before the Games started - she steals a glance at Selica, who seems unfazed by the news. What are you cooking up with her, I wonder? 

         Voltaea turns it around, proposes a less formal, temporary truce. Good girl, keep her friendly but at arms length. “Alara!” Selica snaps her fingers in front of her face - she whirls to the side to look at her, eyes narrowed at her in that way that always makes her feel like she’s being punished for something - “You ignored my question.” 

         “What was it, darling? I wasn’t listening.” 

         Selica gestures to the screen where Voltaea and Cymbria have started climbing down - well, Voltaea has. The other girl lowers herself on the line beside her to keep pace. “I asked why you thought it would be a good idea to give her drugs before sending her into a public venue.” 

         “Oh.” That. Alara scowls. If she looked slightly messy earlier, Voltaea is a full-blown disaster now - Sweating through her training uniform, ghostly pale, with pupils so wide that her eyes look practically black from this angle. If you had just let me do things my way, she’d never have noticed. 

         “Yes - Oh . You should know better!” Selica blows a ring of smoke directly into her face this time - Alara coughs. “Look, historically, we both know I haven’t above slipping the promising ones a few performance enhancers -” Have you? And you held out on telling me until just now? Cheater. “- but I mean gods Alara, she’s practically crawling out of her skin out there. You’re clearly overdoing it.” 

         “She’s the one who overdid it.” Alara snaps back, ripping out the earbud to stop Cymbria’s voice cutting off her train of thought. “She went straight into my stash this morning and decided she knew better than I did about what she should be taking. I’m not at fault, at least on this one.” 

         “Who showed her the drugs in the first place, Alara? Did she just conjure the idea out of thin air?” Selica’s voice drips with sarcasm. 

         “I suppose I did, but-”

         “Don’t but me when I’m right. You need to put a leash on this before it gets worse. If she actually manages to win somehow, you don’t want allegations of cheating floating around. You know our dear leader would find that embarrassing enough to merit a punishment - it undermines the legitimacy of the Games. You’re already taking a huge risk with your… indiscreet behavior, don’t make it worse.” Alara hadn’t considered that angle - but she doesn’t have to think hard to imagine what kind of fallout she’d face from Snow in the event they were caught smuggling things into the arena. Definitely a firing, possibly a covert poisoning - absolutely nothing good. She realizes that this would also undermine her own narrative about their relationship. If Voltaea doesn’t look like the mastermind - if they think she’s too strung out to make the choice… well… that would tip the scale of scandalous and fun in the wrong direction, wouldn’t it? 

         “I’ll have to tighten my grip, then.” She looks over at the screen again. Voltaea, physically, looks almost ill walking over to the trapping station with her allies. It’s been fun letting you have a win today, but I can't have you spinning out, darling, it’ll be bad for both of us. 

         “I hope it’s enough.” Selica shifts herself in the chair so she’s half-lying on her side, facing Alara fully.  “While we’re on the topic of reckless behavior - Is there any way I can convince you to keep this tryst of yours quiet? It may never come out organically, it’s not like you have to force it.” 

         Alara’s mind wanders back to her last few rides on the elevator with her girl - “If I don’t get us caught, she will.” she says bluntly, “We haven’t exactly... been subtle about our affections..” 

         Selica sighs, shaking her head with the most disappointed look Alara’s ever seen across her face - it takes her a moment to get her bearings enough to speak again. “I mean... you can at least acknowledge it’s a risk, can’t you? There’s no guarantee Snow lets this slide, it’s an ethical nightmare. There must be some part of you that knows that, right?” 

         A flicker of doubt crosses her mind but she fights it off - I can’t afford that kind of thinking. Not if I want to keep her around. “He’s not going to care about the ethics as long as it sells. He might even thank me for the distraction - people get antsy this time of year. Why not give them something to talk about besides all the death?” 

         “You really are committed to this, then?” 

         Alara nods without letting herself squeeze in a second thought - “Completely.”

         “Fine. Then we’ll need to come up with a spin for the Cut. I’m not going to let good gossip go to waste.” Alara grins at her, Selica frowns - “Don’t look at me like that. It's not even close to an endorsement of your behavior. In fact, right now my thought is to lean into the debate this is bound to stir rather than avoid it. I’ll play the voice of concern, Ismene can be the supportive one - you’ll need to play nice with her for that to work -” 

         Alara quickly drifts away from Selica’s words as she drags into a long-winded monologue about her plans - we never follow the plans, I don’t know why she bothers. She turns back to watch her girl, nodding along with the chatter beside her. Voltaea is talking to the trainer now - he’s smiling at her a little too brightly, holding something behind his back that the camera doesn’t have a good angle on. When he pulls it out Alara chokes on the last of her coffee, spitting it back into the cup as she sputters out- “Is that a fucking mine?” Oh gods, this is going to put terrible ideas in her head. It certainly puts terrible ideas in Alara’s head - her mind starts swirling with all the possible ways trying to fiddle with explosives could get her girl killed. She’s going to blow herself up and it’s going to be my fault and I’m going to lose again and why the fuck did anyone think it would be a good idea to give her a MINE. 

         “Oh relax, I doubt it’s live. Anyway, as I was saying -” Alara’s chest tightens painfully as she sees Voltaea’s face lights up. It’s the same look she gets when she lies in Alara’s lap talking about her favorite ideas - She’s going to fixate on this. It’s dangerous, and stupid, and suicidal and she’s going to fixate on it because it’s a fucking puzzle to solve and I hate this so much. 

         Her stomach flips over as she watches her girl take the mine over to a nearby table and start disassembling it, hands shaking so much that she drops the screwdriver before she even manages to pop the cover off. She’s going to try and do that in the arena and it’s going to fail and she’s going to die and I’ll be alone and oh for fucks sake why can’t you just do something safer? Selica might still be talking, Alara doesn’t notice one way or the other when she speaks again - “If she blows herself up I’m going to lose it.” 

         Selica sighs, heavily, resting a hand on Alara’s back - “You’re already losing it, take a breath.” 

         “Don’t tell me to breathe.” She takes a deep breath anyways - it does nothing to calm her.

         “Don’t have a panic attack while you’re sitting next to me, then.” Selica rolls over to grab her purse from the nearby side-table, rummaging through until she finds a small pill bottle and tosses it to Alara. “Here, take one of these. For your nerves.” 

         Alara takes the pill, grabbing Selica’s long-abandoned glass of wine from the table and chasing it down with a sip. She’s struck with another thought of Voltaea exploding in an attempt to engineer some mad trap with a mine involved. She looks down at herself - she’s shaking almost as badly as her girl is now - with skin half-drenched in sweat, glistening off the overhead lights. I need to get it together, she’s right about that much. 

         They sit in silence for nearly twenty minutes, until Alara feels her chest unclench and her breathing return to something almost normal. Whatever she gave me, it works well enough. Voltaea has been poking around inside the mine the whole time - The more Alara watches her, the less it seems like she’s actually doing much with it. At one point, she stares blankly at what looks like a battery for a full five minutes before reaching out to touch it - then jerking her hand back like she’s hurt herself. Her expression doesn’t shift, like she’s only half-aware of what’s going on. Alara’s thoughts start to slip back into dangerously negative territory but she stops herself - She’s fine, she’s just having a rough come-down. This is how we’re teaching her to listen, remember?

         It’s the boy who breaks Voltaea out of her stupor, calling something out from behind her that makes her jump. He says something else and she frowns at him, looking around the room and then down at her hands. She drops the screwdriver again and yells something that makes the boy flinch back from her - Don’t come completely unglued, darling, I need you to at least act somewhat normal until we can get you straightened out later. 

         He practically has to drag her to the others - she winces, almost pained when the other girl opens her mouth. Definitely crashing, I hope you remember this headache the next time you decide you know better than me. Voltaea barely says a word to any of them as they make their way to the cafeteria - she even tries to close her eyes at one point while they walk, though clearly thinks better of it when she bumps into Coulomb almost immediately after and they fly open again. “Alara dear, have you eaten? Or are you just running on ego and amphetamines today?” 

         She hadn’t thought about food at all, today - “Just the amphetamines, darling. My ego is fairly deflated at the moment.” 

         “I’ll order us something then. Do you have any ideas?” Alara shakes her head. “Alright, but you can’t complain if I grab you something you don’t want like you did last time.” 

         “I won’t.” I might. Selica pulls herself up out of the chair and wanders to a phone on the back wall, calling in their order to the tower’s main kitchen. Alara settles back into the chair, spreading out to watch her girl more comfortably now that she has finally has space to move.  

         Voltaea’s not much more animated during lunch itself - picking over most of the buffet options before settling on what looks like the blandest selection of bread and vegetables she could have possibly chosen. She practically slumps into the chair when she returns to her allies at their table, leaning her head back and closing her eyes - completely ignoring the tray of food in front of her. The boy tugs at her sleeve again until she relents and sits upright, grabbing her fork and poking around at the food while she scowls at it like it’s offended her somehow. Perhaps if you chose something actually appetizing instead of… whatever that is… 

         After agonizing over it for a few minutes while her allies chatter around her, she finally takes a bite of her food and Alara breathes a sigh of relief. It’s short lived, because seconds later Voltaea stands up and bolts across the room, losing the entire contents of her stomach into the trashcan at the end of the buffet table. Shit.

Chapter Text

Failure: Voltaea

        Everything hurts . All Voltaea can taste is bile - all she can hear is blaring static and scattered laughter. A little voice at the back of her head whispers how much of an embarrassment she is for losing it like this in front of everyone. She braces herself on the side of the trashcan long after she’s finished emptying her stomach, staring at the evidence of her failures - until a bold, familiar voice cuts through the noise. “Hey Sparky, thought you might want a drink after all that.” Voltaea lets her head roll to the side, looking up at Sarah who stands over her with a bottle of water and a concerned-looking half-smile. 

      “Thanks.” She manages to mumble, pushing herself upright and taking a tentative sip of the water. Her body doesn’t immediately reject it like the food, though she doesn’t dare leave the safe range of the trash can just yet.

      Sarah pats her on the shoulder and she flinches - though doesn’t recoil. “Let’s go sit. You can at least listen while we talk strategy, ok? I don’t want you to miss anything.” Voltaea just looks at her, unmoving, with most of her thoughts still wrapped in static and shame. So much for looking strong today, I’m useless. Sarah leans in to whisper - loudly - seemingly sensing her concern, “Y’know, If you need a place to throw up again, Marcelus is only two tables away from us.” 

      Voltaea laughs - it makes her head feel like it’s being split in two with an axe, but it’s earnest. That’s what I should have done in the first place. “Okay, I’m coming.” Her stomach growls angrily now that her nausea has dissipated slightly. I should try to eat something, that could help, right? “Just give me a second to grab something to eat that’s a little less heavy.” I just want today to be over. 

      “I think they have soup, does that work?” Voltaea nods. “Let’s get some of that then. And another water or three, you look like you’ve… uh… lost some there.” Sarah gestures at her and she looks down. Oh. I’m completely gross right now. Great. They walk to the buffet table side-by-side, Voltaea trying her best not to check how many eyes are still on her after that display of weakness. There’s several different soups available - she takes the first bowl on the table, not bothering to read the label. It’ll only make my head hurt more. Sarah grabs two, one for each hand, and leads her back to the table where the others still sit chatting amicably. 

      Coulomb starts to pummel Voltaea with questions in a pitchy, too-bright voice as soon as she drops into her seat - “Are you okay? Do you think you’re getting sick? Did you drink again? Was it the food?” She rubs her forehead with one hand where a spike of pain hits in response to his chatter - He’s almost as bad as Ohma is with this stuff. Sarah sees her grimace - she gestures at Coulomb to be quiet and thankfully he trails off. 

      Voltaea takes a bite of her soup - it’s already lukewarm from sitting on the buffet table, but the flavor is as decadent as anything else she’s had in the Capitol. I didn’t even know soup could taste good. Before anyone can shatter her moment of peace by asking again, she comes up with an explanation for her outburst as best she can - “It’s nerves.” Not entirely a lie - though she leaves out the part where her nerves are frayed because she took something to make herself stronger and overdid it - like an idiot . “I’m just… a lot more nervous than I thought I would be.” 

      “You don’t have to explain, I get that.” Sarah nods and chimes in - she’s actually managed to keep her voice sort-of quiet this time - “It’s getting so close now. I mean, today is the last time we’ll have a chance to really talk before…” She trails off, turning her attention back to her food and picking at it. She’s nervous. Voltaea looks around the table and notices - they all are. I’ll just play up my nerves then, and maybe no one will notice I’m broken. 

      “They’ll have us waiting together before the private sessions tomorrow - but everyone else will be there too.” Coulomb whispers between bites of pudding. 

      “So it’s our last chance to talk privately, at least.” Sarah leans in and drops her voice even lower. “Does anyone have any ideas we haven’t covered?” 

      Bashir pipes up, Voltaea misses half of it in the deafening blaze of background voices battling for her focus - he’s almost too quiet… “- bloodbath?” 

      She digs her nails into her palm under the table to quiet her mind enough to listen - “Huh?” 

      “I said what are we going to do during the bloodbath?” Bashir looks around the table expectantly. Coulomb is still exhausted around the eyes and avoids looking up from his pudding. Sarah just seems bewildered by the question - like it had barely occurred to her that they’d be a part of that in just a few days. “We’ve kind of avoided the subject so far.”

      “I mean what’s there to plan? We run in, we grab some stuff, we run out - and we try really hard not to die while we do that.” Sarah shrugs and dives back into her food as soon as she’s done proposing her not-plan . 

      Voltaea turns to Bashir, ignoring Sarah’s unhelpful advice - “Can you fight?” 

      “No.” He says bluntly. Pragmatic, I respect that. “I can run pretty fast, and I hide well, but I’m not a fighter.” 

      “I’m not either.” Coulomb says weakly - he looks like he’s about to tear up again. Don’t do that here, I made us look weak enough today. “Maybe we should just run? We could find our own food, or maybe we’ll get sponsors? Mr. Orville says he’s good with sponsors, we’ll probably have some at least.” 

      Voltaea takes another bite of her soup and tries to scrape together a coherent thought from the ashes of her crash. ‘They’ll both die in there, you know.’ She looks around the room to confirm her suspicion that the familiar voice in her head is, in fact, in her head. She’s not here, I know she’s not here, stay in the moment. Deep breath - exhale - “We do both. You two leave, Sarah and I will run for supplies. We’ll find some way to meet after.” 

      “Okay, but how? I don’t want to just run off without you guys and not be able to find you again.” Bashir questions.

      Coulomb finishes his pudding and pipes up again while Voltaea is still mulling over the logistics of her plan - “We could stay close and hide? Maybe keep an eye out for them and run after them when we see them leave?” 

      “I don’t know - there might not be a good place to hide, and there’s going to be a lot of people running around us on day one. We could get caught just as easily.” Bashir doesn’t seem convinced - “We can’t have any kind of big signal either or we’ll have people up our asses, I think -” That’s it -

      “You just have to find high ground.” Voltaea blurts the thought out before it can escape her grasp again - “Whatever the highest thing in the arena is - trees, a mountain, a building, whatever - doesn’t matter. Find that, and we’ll find you there.”

      “Hmmm.” Bashir folds his hands under his chin and rests his head on them, pondering her words for a moment before he speaks again - “So, let’s say there’s two equally tall places -” Oh come on… “-or, none at all? How are you guys gonna know where to find us then?”

      “I have an idea.” Coulomb raises his spoon like he’s asking permission to speak in class - they all turn to look at him. “You mentioned big signals - so I was thinking we can’t make a fire or anything like that. And earlier I was making this oven -” If he keeps rambling like this without getting to the point my head is going to explode right here at the lunch table. Coulomb carries on for another minute before pulling a small, shining pocketwatch out of his pants and holding it up to the light. It catches, the reflection crosses Voltaea’s eyes for a moment and it’s blindingly bright - “So I can use my token as a reflector, to signal you guys!” 

      “That could work, it’s better than nothing anyway.” Bashir concedes. “So the plan is run, find somewhere high up, signal you guys, and hope for the best?” 

      “I think so.” Sarah says through a mouthful of mashed potato. “I mostly tuned out after the part where Sparky and I are gonna fight.” She turns to Voltaea, thankfully swallowing before she speaks again. “Speaking of which - we should probably take a little time to practice your fighting skills again if we’re gonna do that. If you’re up for it.” Moving around and throwing things is at the bottom of the list of things I feel like doing right now. 

      “I’m up for it if you are.” I am going to regret agreeing to this so much. Oh wait! That reminds me - “Cymbria wanted to meet us after lunch, maybe we can get her to come too?” Sarah’s eyes narrow at the mention of Cymbria’s name and Voltaea quickly adds - “It might be good to practice against someone I don’t care about hurting.” That gets a laugh out of her, to Voltaea’s relief. 

      They try to avoid the topic of strategy for the rest of lunch - though there isn’t much of lunch left by the time they finish planning. The intercom blazes to life overhead and beckons them back to the training floor - Cymbria is already by the door with her sidekick in tow waiting for them. “Did you have a chance to talk to your friends?” Her eyes lock with Voltaea’s. 

      Sarah barges into the conversation before she has a chance to respond - “She did, and now you’re gonna come practice with us. So we know we can trust you.” 

      Cymbria giggles, unfazed, shifting to the side and gesturing dramatically to the door - “Fine. Lead the way, then.” 

      Voltaea glances down at her hands as the group makes their way to a melee combat station - she’s shaking less now that she’s eaten, at least, but she’s still sweating bullets and feels like there’s a team of construction workers jackhammering her brainstem with every step. Not exactly fighting material. She bites her tongue as her jaw clenches suddenly and tries to hide her disgust as the taste of copper coats her mouth. I’m not making anyone proud today. 

      The trainer waves them over in her direction when they arrive and starts reciting the ground rules in the bored tone of someone who’s made this speech a thousand times before - “Training weapons only - you can check out a maximum of two at a time and they have to return to these racks when you finish here. If someone draws blood somehow we stop immediately - otherwise matches go until someone concedes or is pinned. I can have two groups fighting at a time, there’s not enough space for more - so a few of you will have to wait.” Voltaea glances behind her at Coulomb who nods immediately, gesturing for Bashir to follow him to a nearby bench to watch them. “Everyone got it?” She barely waits for them to nod before speaking again. “Alright then, pair off and pick your weapons.” She waves them off and returns to a chair at the side of the fighting area.

      There are two platforms, raised about six inches off of the floor with large circles in the middle of them. Off to the side sits a series of racks holding a whole arsenal of training weapons; axes, knives, swords, spears - even a few more exotic ones Voltaea can’t identify at first glance. She feels a slender arm thread through hers and Cymbria’s cool voice echoes in her ear “I think I’ll take you today.” Shit, she beat me to it. 

      Voltaea tugs her arm out of Cymbria’s grip and tries to put on the smuggest look she can muster in her sorry state. “Try me.” Cymbria just rolls her eyes in response and strides ahead to the weapon rack, grabbing a pair of dull training knives without a second thought - I can’t even come up with a good comeback, I hate today. Voltaea takes a moment to look over the selection in front of her before landing on a handaxe that resembles the ones she was throwing with Sarah yesterday - it’s the only thing she’s remotely familiar with wielding. Probably not familiar enough… 

      Sarah grabs a much larger axe, Nerisse a spear - they mount their platform just after Voltaea and Cymbria have squared off on their own. The lights buzz angrily overhead - Voltaea rolls the axe over in her hands until she settles on a decent grip. She says a silent prayer to anyone who bothers to listen - please don’t let me drop this.

      The trainer claps her hands and calls out, snapping her back into the moment - “On my countdown - Three… two… one… fight!” Cymbria snaps into action immediately, closing the distance between them in a flash and bringing her knife straight at Voltaea’s neck - she jumps back and it misses her narrowly. Voltaea swings the axe blindly in front of her, every movement making her head pound in revolt. It’s facing the wrong way - she whacks Cymbria in the arm with the back end of it. Before she can recover to swing again, she feels the cold training knife press into the side of her throat.

      “And you’re dead.” She looks to her side to see Cymbria’s icy smile inches from her face. “You left yourself wide open with that swing.” Fuck, she’s right, isn’t she?

      She eyes the bench behind her. I could go sit down for a minute… though not if I want Alara to be proud today. Her body screams at her to take it easy - her words say differently - “Let’s go again.”. Voltaea stands herself upright and gets back into position on the platform. Cymbria does the same, though she tosses her second knife to the side this time - She thinks I’m too weak to bother. 

      “I’ll go a little easier on you this time.” Her voice drips with sarcasm - she winks, smirking at Voltaea like she already knows she’s won - I need to wipe that smile off her face. Cymbria turns to the trainer - “Give us a countdown.” 

      “Three… two… one… fight -” Cymbria wields the knife in her left hand, again charging Voltaea. She’s ready for it this time - stopping the first swing of the knife with the handle of her axe and swiping Cymbria’s arm to the side. There’s the briefest of openings - ‘Don’t hesitate’ - she tries to grab Cymbria’s knife-hand with her free one and digs her nails into her arm. There’s a sharp pain in her shin as the other girl sweeps her legs. The world shifts around her and there’s a soft sound - smack - as she falls backward onto the padded floor. Her head spins, pounding - the axe flies out of her hand and Cymbria is on top of her in seconds, pinning her arms and holding the training knife to her throat again.

      “Better, but you’re still dead.” Cymbria laughs as she pulls back the knife and gets to her feet, holding out a hand to help Voltaea up behind her. “You’re too predictable, you just left yourself wide open again.” The voice sounds distant, dulled by the throbbing pain. She closes her eyes, lying flat on the mat for a few moments until the throb recedes enough that she can hear herself think again. It takes a considerable effort, but she pushes herself to her feet without taking Cymbria’s help. 

      Her mind and body both scream at her in unison now to take a break - she drowns the screams in static, picking up the axe and taking position across from her opponent once more - “Again.”

      “You look tired, are you sure you don’t want to call it quits?” Cymbria taunts, spinning the knife around in her fingers. Voltaea shakes her head - not yet. 

      There's a loud sigh from the side of the platform as the trainer stands up to give them another countdown - “Three… two… one… f-” Voltaea springs forward before she can finish the last word, beating Cymbria off the mark - she swings, misses - dodges back from the knife. Cymbria pulls away to make another move but Voltaea whips the back-end of the axe into the knuckles of her knife hand causing her to release it in shock. She loses her own grip - shit - both weapons clatter on the ground. Cymbria looks stunned and dips quickly to grab the knife - ‘Don’t hesitate -’ the command echoes in the back of Voltaea’s head once again and she grabs the back of the other girl’s short-cropped hair and yanks it. 

      “Fuck!” Cymbria kicks outward and knocks Voltaea’s legs out from underneath her - they both crash to the ground. Everything hurts - all she can do is swing wildly and try to stay out from under Cymbria’s attempts to wrestle her into a pinned position. She’s almost got her and then - slam - her back hits the mat as Cymbria gets the upper hand, grabbing the knife from the floor beside her and holding it a foot or so above Voltaea's face. She’s breathing heavily this time - hair sticking up in every direction with a look halfway between fury and triumph on her face. “Dead again.” She takes her free hand and smooths her hair back, keeping the knife pointed right at Voltaea. “This is why it was smart to make that truce with us, you wouldn’t stand a chance in a real fight with me.” 

      ‘Are you just going to let her gloat up there all day or are you going to do something about it?’ - Voltaea uses the last burst of strength she can muster to rip her arm out of the position it’s pinned in and grab Cymbria’s knife hand, yanking it towards her and plunging her teeth into the girl’s forearm. Cymbria drops her knife - she makes a noise of agonized rage and the trainer blows her whistle from the sideline. Voltaea releases her grip immediately and the trainer barks out - “Hey! No teeth!” There’s an angry welt on Cymbria’s arm from where her teeth connected - good, I hope it hurts.

      “I still had you beat.” Cymbria mutters as she stands up - she doesn’t offer help this time. “You would have already been dead before you had a chance to bite me.” 

      “But you didn’t touch me with the knife.” Voltaea stands on her own and massages the back of her neck to ease the tension. “You were just sitting there gloating, I had all the time in the world.” She attempts a smile - to her surprise, Cymbria returns it. I win? 

      “Good point. I’ll wait until I’ve finished killing you next time.” She reaches out to shake her hand and Voltaea returns it, curtly - “Do we still have our truce-for-now?” 

      Voltaea nods - “Yeah. For now.” The two of them step off the platform - Coulomb and Bashir are sparring on the second one, though it’s obviously nowhere near as heated as the fight she’d just been through. They’re mostly just goofing off with swords that are far too big for them and chasing each other in circles. Sarah and Nerisse are sitting on the bench chatting away and occasionally giggling at the boy's poor effort at a fight. It’s one of the only times Voltaea has seen the girl smile - Sarah’s good at that. Sarah waves them over when she catches sight of them. 

      Nerisse stands as they approach, eyeing Cymbria’s bruise - “Is your arm okay?” Cymbria scowls at her. 

      “It’s fine , stop being dramatic.” Nerisse shrinks into herself as Cymbria strides straight past her. She grabs her sidekick’s arm as she passes, shooting a look over her shoulder at the others - “It’s been fun beating you, but we’re going to try and actually challenge ourselves with the rest of our time.” Cymbria winks before she heads for the opposite end of the training hall without another word. 

      “I really can’t stand that freak, but her friend was alright. Nice to talk to, at least, when she actually talks.” Voltaea whips around at the sound of Sarah’s voice behind her. She’s glaring after Cymbria with her arms crossed - “You know she almost beat me? I got her twice but it was a close call in both fights.” 

      “Huh, I didn’t expect that.” Voltaea glances back at the girls, Cymbria seems to be berating her sidekick again from what she can see - “She’s always so… shy? I’ve never seen her stick up for herself with Cymbria, at least.” 

      “Yeah well - apparently when there’s weapons involved she gets over that. We’re gonna have to be careful with both of them if it comes down to fighting.” Sarah looks her over, biting back a giggle - “You know your hair’s all fucked up right?” Shit, I barely noticed. Voltaea reaches back - half her hair has escaped the bun and is sticking all over her neck and shoulders. “I’d offer to help but you look… um…” 

      “Gross?” Voltaea is all-too-aware of the state she’s in.

      Sarah laughs - “I was trying to find a nice way to say that.” 

      “Don’t worry about it.” She smiles back - laughing sounds like more pain than she can handle right now. The shaking returns to her hands as she pulls her hair out of the tie fully. Without a brush it’s going to look disastrous no matter what she does, but she still attempts to pull it into its usual tight style. The important thing is the light tug at her temples - to keep her sharp - which she manages to achieve. “Better?”

      Sarah looks at her for a moment before she speaks - “Its… better than it was?” She gives her a thumbs up and a cheesy smile - neither is very convincing. 

      Voltaea shrugs - “Good enough.” 

      “Are you alright besides the hair?” Sarah drops her voice to that almost-whisper she seems to think is quiet - “I didn’t wanna say this while she was here but you did get your ass kicked a little bit… no offense.” Kind of offense.

      “I got her that last time.” Her back still feels tight from the other times. Maybe Alara has something that works for that? “I’ll be in better shape when we see her next, too.” 

      “Yeah, okay, fair. You both had crazy eyes for a minute there too - kinda wild. That was the fight I got the best look at.” I didn’t actually look at hers… should I have paid more attention?  “I definitely didn’t expect you to just go for it like that, teeth and all - damn.” Sarah shoves her; lightly, but it still makes her bones ache. 

      Those falls hurt more than I thought - “We should probably avoid fighting if we can. We’ll just focus on getting in and out as fast as possible, the less contact the better.” 

      Sarah nods - “If I can get an axe, we’ll be fine. I think.” That’s hopeful I guess? 

      Before Voltaea has a chance to reply she hears the too-bright-today voice of Coulomb as he and Bashir descend from the platform - “You guys, I won!” 

      “No, I just got bored and gave up.” Bashir mumbles behind him. 

      “That’s still called winning, you conceded .” Coulomb grins from ear-to-ear, though they both look exhausted at this point - I probably look much worse. Bashir grumbles something inaudibly and rolls his eyes as Coulomb bounds ahead to meet the rest of the team. “So what’s next? I think we have time left.” 

      Before Voltaea can think, Bashir groans - “I just want to do something sitting down.” 

      “I’m with you on sitting.” Sarah chimes in - “There’s a knot-tying station, we could try that?” 

      Voltaea is too beat to do much other than nod in agreement and follow the others to the knot tying station. She works slower than she’d like - the shaking and tension in her body have both picked up again as the afternoon wears on - but manages to produce all but one of the knots the trainer shows them over the course of their session. She gives up on that one when Coulomb suggests another, thankfully seated activity at a survival skills station. 

      When the intercom finally blares to life to mark the end of the day, Voltaea and Coulomb say their goodbyes to their allies. It’s a less animated affair today - she’s not the only one who’s still completely exhausted. As the elevator lurches to life, she has to stop herself from slumping to the ground - though she does prop herself up casually against the wall to stay upright. She closes her eyes for the duration of the ride, protecting herself from Coulomb's excited chatter with a wall of throbbing headache and buzzing static. Though she does nod along in an effort to seem alive to appease him.

      She doesn’t open her eyes until the doors chime, sliding open to the now-familiar lounge of their floor. Alara sits perched on a barstool sipping some colorful drink out of a triangular glass and looking like she just walked straight off a television set -  clean, put-together, completely perfect - shit . Voltaea is suddenly struck with self-consciousness about her own disheveled state and stands stunned just outside the elevator doors. The tension only melts off her shoulders when Alara looks up and smiles at her, rising to her feet. She doesn’t look mad, so I can’t have done too badly? Coulomb says something behind her but all she can hear is the silent command Alara sends when she crooks a finger in Voltaea’s direction and turns towards her room. 

      Voltaea shoots a quick glance at Coulomb who looks up at her, visibly frustrated - or worried? “We’ll talk more at dinner, alright?” 

      He opens his mouth to say something - shuts it again. Breathes. Then finally - “Okay. You’re actually gonna come out here tonight, right?” 

      “Yeah of course.” Probably, anyway… I think. She takes off down the hall without thinking too much more about it, her aching skull screaming for relief with every step. Just a little further, and then she can fix this. Completely out-of-breath and caked in a day's worth of training grime, she catches up to Alara just as she’s opening the doors. 

      Alara turns to her, eyes wandering over her with a smile on her face. Her voice is teasing, dripping with sarcasm - “And here I thought you weren’t going to come.” 

      Voltaea can’t decide if she wants to say something earnest or something snarky. She hesitates for a moment before blurting out the first thing that pops into her head - “I’ll always come for you.” Ugh, too corny, what even is that?  I need to practice romantic. 

      Alara bursts into a full-throated cackle. She loops an arm around Voltaea’s waist, sighing heavily to compose herself enough to speak. “We’ll get to that later, darling.” To what? “I’d imagine you probably want me to fix you up first?” Voltaea nods, still slightly confused but desperate for any kind of relief at this point. Alara tugs her forward, stepping into the dimly lit suite as the doors slide shut with a mechanical whir behind them.

Chapter Text

Mistakes: Alara

       The day may have started out rocky, but Alara has finally hit her stride in the wake of Voltaea’s public embarrassment in the cafeteria. We’ll just have to make sure this was a learning experience for you, darling. After graciously allowing Selica to feed her lunch and talk her out of storming onto the training floor, she’s managed to: officially set up the alliance between her tributes and Seven’s, eavesdrop on the girl from One, and correct the terrible job she’d done on her makeup this morning in the lounge bathroom. Mostly, anyways. Halfway through reapplying her eyes, Selica’s voice cuts through her focus - “Alara dear, are you going to be much longer?” 

       Alara sighs, frustrated both by the distraction and the shaking in her hand that keeps slowing her work down. “I don’t know - but it would be quicker if you didn’t interrupt, why?”

       She turns around to see Selica grinning ear-to-ear in the doorway behind her - “Our girls are fighting, I thought you might want to watch.” Gods, I leave for ten minutes and you’re already off-script again. Tossing everything in her purse, Alara flies out of the bathroom after Selica. 

       A minute later, they’re crammed side-by-side in the oversized recliner - eyes glued to the camera feed. Alara’s heart leaps back into her throat when she spots her girl stepping onto a platform where Cymbria already waits with knives in hand. Voltaea’s weapon of choice turns out to be a small handaxe - no doubt that ogre girl’s influence - Alara struggles against a churning in her stomach at the thought. “Give me that earpiece again, I want to hear what’s happening.” She holds out a hand to Selica. 

       “I’m going to just imagine you said please -” Selica mutters as she hands Alara the device. 

       She slips it into her ear and an unfamiliar voice crackles through the speaker - “Two… One… Fight!” Alara barely has time to process that the fight has started when Cymbria takes the first swing, and for a moment, after Voltaea deftly avoids the hit - she actually thinks her girl might have a chance. That hope is quickly extinguished by Voltaea’s wild swing in return - it’s clumsy, poorly-aimed, and leaves her completely exposed as she stumbles forward. Cymbria’s knife is at her throat before Voltaea even regains her balance. Gods, what a mess. Alara’s chest tightens. 

       “And you’re dead.” Voltaea’s face scrunches at Cymbria’s words and for a moment she looks off to the side as if she’s contemplating an early exit. It hurts her to watch. You don’t have to fight her, my sweet. There’s safer ways to wipe that smirk off her face.  

       Selica elbows her playfully - “I told you Cymbria was good, didn’t I?” 

       Alara scowls at her - her competitive spirit blazing to life in the face of her co-host’s taunting, “It’s one round, don’t get ahead of yourself.” But I suppose you could keep going, just to shut her up. She’s torn between pride and nerves when Voltaea prompts the girl for another fight. 

       The second round lasts longer, but it ends with Voltaea going down - hard - slamming against the mat as Cymbria seizes an opening to trip her and put the knife to her throat once more. Selica cackles loudly in her ear - it takes every ounce of self-control she has not to slap her. Get up, Voltaea! I know you’re better than this!

        “Maybe you’re the one who needs to stop getting ahead of yourself.” Selica giggles beside her and Alara shoots her a scathing glare - it just earns a bigger laugh in response. “You can’t pull that look off with just one finished eye.” Fuck!

       Alara turns back to the screen, flushed and frustrated - adjusting a section of her curls so they fall over her half-finished makeup job. Some of the tension melts off her shoulders when Voltaea wrestles herself to her feet - though it seems to be a painful process. Her voice doesn’t betray any of that - it’s flat, cool, almost calm when she says; “Again.” That’s my girl! The two square off once more - Voltaea looking wrecked and determined in equal measure. Cymbria tries to taunt her but she ignores it - Alara clenches her fists as Voltaea closes her grip around the axe once more. Just get her once today, darling. We need a win. 

       Before the instructor can finish the countdown, Voltaea takes off - swinging the axe and missing wide as the other girl shifts. She can barely keep track of their movements - Voltaea somehow manages to knock both of their weapons out of their hands in a clumsy attempt at a disarm - “Oh for fucks sake…” Alara mutters under her breath as Selica lets out another self-satisfied cackle beside her. 

       Voltaea pounces - they both gasp as she yanks Cymbria’s hair back and a loud “Fuck!” cracks through the earpiece. Alara’s heart pounds and a hot flush creeps into her cheeks - so you do have it in you! Good girl. Cymbria manages to sweep her again - she loses her grip, but she’s more prepared this time. The two grapple against each other, wrestling for the upper hand - there’s a loud slam as Cymbria presses her into the mat again. No, shit, we were so close! She grabs the knife, hovering over Voltaea and pinning both her arms under her legs. Alara flinches - her girl lies still, with an unreadable expression. 

       Cymbria declares herself the winner - she gloats while Alara seethes and silently urges Voltaea to regain some kind of dignity. At least stand up, darling, this is agonizing. Instead, Voltaea rips her arm free and bites the other girl - it’s the proudest Alara has ever felt of anyone besides herself. Forget all my critiques, that was a perfect finish. She turns to Selica who immediately rolls her eyes upon seeing the massive grin on Alara’s face. “That was cheap.” 

       “ You’re cheap - That was a beautiful comeback and you know it.” Alara bites back to another eye roll from her co-host. They watch side-by-side in cold silence as their tributes face off and shake hands - reaffirming their tentative truce. Alara hands Selica back her earbud when it becomes clear that all she’s going to be hearing is Cymbria’s stale taunting and an unsettling amount of heavy breathing. She leaves the fighting area with her sidekick in tow. Alara glances at the clock - there’s less than an hour and a half left in training - plenty of time to pull a plan together. She rises to her feet, gathering her bag from beside the chair. 

       Selica deliberately stretches out across the entire chair as soon as Alara is off of it. “Going to fix your face?” 

       “I’m going back to my suite.” 

       Selica scoffs at her - “You’ve been preoccupied with this girl’s every move all day and now you’re just going to take off before we even have a chance to plan tomorrow’s show?” 

       Alara shrugs, “I know what lessons I need to teach her, and I doubt she’s going anywhere quickly in the state she’s in.” She gestures to her girl on screen - now sitting in a circle with her allies, slowly tying knots and looking completely glazed over. 

There’s a long sigh from her co-host “Can you at least promise you’ll be in the studio by eleven?” 

       “Of course. Eleven-thirty, at the latest.” Selica opens her mouth to argue but Alara starts towards the door before she can get the first word in. It’s important to take those small victories. She mouths a silent goodbye to her girl as she waits for the elevators, stepping inside as soon as the doors rush open and quickly pushing the button to shut them behind her. It’s a quiet ride to her floor, but that just leaves extra room for her thoughts to race. She’d been genuinely worried for Voltaea’s safety several times throughout the day - my heart might explode if she starts tinkering with live explosives. She’d also seen real, tangible proof of her girl’s ability to push through under pressure - that’s what I need to encourage, less recklessness - more outlasting the rest.  

       She steps off the elevator as it comes to a halt. Orville is already back from his sponsor lunch - she spots him sitting on the sofa furiously scribbling notes onto a clipboard. Alara clears her throat and he drops the entire thing onto the floor - “Oh!” He stands up, straightening out his suit as he speaks - “I didn’t realize you were coming back early today, or I’d have been better prepared.” 

       “It’s fine,” she waves dismissively - there’s too much to do to bother tormenting him - “How are we faring with sponsorships so far?” 

       “We’ve actually done very well in comparison to some of our previous attempts - hang on I have the numbers here -” Orville bends to grab the clipboard from the floor and flips through a few pages. “There it is - in the two days after the parade we’ve pulled in almost the amount we started the games with last year. As it turns out it’s been easy to sell the girl who attacked someone on the first day as a contender, and the boy really helps to soften our image around the edges. Though now that I think of it, last year was a slow year for sponsorships, let me look up a better one - ” 

       Alara cuts him off - “Don’t worry about the exact numbers, Orville, I was looking for a quick explanation. Keep doing what you’ve been doing, I suppose - it seems to be working well enough.” She turns to leave, pausing at the edge of the lounge  - “I’ll need you to drop off a dinner cart around eight. With wine… and something sweet - you’ll think of something I’m sure. Just have it there on time and don’t call unless something’s on fire - I need absolute quiet tonight.” 

       “Of course, I-” she doesn’t hear the rest of his sentence because she’s already walking towards her suite - stripping off the dress she’s wearing the second she walks through the door and heading for the closet to find something more eye-catching. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and scowls at her half-finished makeup and dark circles - Ugh, who let me walk around like this all day? She settles on a short, opalescent one-shoulder dress that's easy to slip in and out of and makes for the shower - I’m just going to have to start over.  

       It takes her far longer than she’d planned to get herself in order. Redoing her makeup alone takes forty minutes, and she spends a fair amount of time leaning up against the shower wall trying to drown her thoughts in hot water. By the time she returns to the lounge and grabs a drink at the bar, the elevator is already pulling in. Her heart jumps when she looks up from her drink and sees her girl walk out - barely walking, still perfect of course . She’s covered in sweat and sways unsteadily with every step and seems to clench her jaw tighter every time the boy behind her speaks - but she’s wearing nothing but determination on her face in spite of it all. Alara smiles at her when their eyes meet and Voltaea immediately softens in response .  

       Showtime. Deciding to abandon her drink in favor of getting her night underway, Alara stands up from the barstool and starts walking back to her room. She motions - just once, without a word - for Voltaea to follow her. Let’s see how ready to listen you are tonight. There’s no movement behind her, she slows her pace to give her girl a chance to respond. Nothing. So you’re not so ready after all? A knot forms in her chest as she reaches the door, pausing for a moment until she hears rapid footsteps approaching and breaths a heavy sigh of relief - gods, I have to stop doubting myself so much, it can’t be healthy. 

       Voltaea is visibly winded when she reaches her, breathing rapidly and leaning against the wall to hold herself up. She still attempts a smile that sets Alara’s chest on fire and makes her breath catch in her throat - If I don’t get her back after all this is over, I might set the entire world on fire. There’s a deafening silence as Alara composes herself. It’s suddenly far too warm in here. She tries to play it off like she’s taking in the scenery in front of her with a half-smile - desperate is a terrible look on me. 

       She pulls herself together enough to perform - “And here I thought you weren’t going to come.”. It’s honesty cloaked in a thick layer of sarcasm. 

       Voltaea’s next words catch her completely off guard - “I’ll always come for you.”  

       Oh? Alara immediately bursts into laughter - Those are bold words; I don’t think you know what you’re getting into. She wraps one arm around Voltaea’s midsection and takes a deep breath to get herself under control - focus -  “We’ll get to that later, darling. I’d imagine you probably want me to fix you up first?” Her girl looks completely lost, like she didn’t hear any of it - she nods anyway. Alara pulls her inside and shuts the door behind them, striding across the room with her girl half-leaning on her for support. 

       They stop in front of the couch and Alara shifts to wrap her other hand around Voltaea and guide her into a seated position - she makes a muffled noise of pain when her back presses against the couch - “Just sit for a moment - I’ll get you something for the pain before we get a look at what the damage is. I’d be surprised if you didn’t take at least a few scrapes in that fight” Voltaea flinches at the mention of her fight - she tips her head to rest against the back of the couch as Alara releases her grip and stands. 

       As she slides off to gather supplies, Voltaea groans from behind her - “Can you fix the rest of me too? I feel like I’m dying.” 

       “I’ll do what I can, darling.” Alara calls over her shoulder, rummaging through her drawer for her stash box and pulling out a few chemical helpers. “One for pain, one for nausea, one for nerves. ”   It’s a similar spread to what she’d taken throughout the day, and she feels… well, not great by any means - but better than if she’d done nothing. . 

       After pouring a glass of water from the bathroom sink she returns to where Voltaea is sitting,  “Here, take these - and make sure you finish that glass of water. You look like you desperately need it.” Alara hands her the medicine and watches in silence as she downs the whole handful in one go with a grimace. “Good girl - lean forward for me, would you?” She shifts - Alara reaches down, grabbing the bottom of her shirt to pull it upward when Voltaea gasps and stops her in her tracks. 

       Alara looks up at her; she’s flushed an angry red, averting her eyes in shame - “Please don’t, I’m disgusting right now -” Completely ridiculous.

       “Don’t start. Self-loathing will get you nowhere with me.” Alara lowers her voice to a soothing whisper - “I just need to see your back, I’m worried you might have bruised there when you hit the mat.” Voltaea shifts her gaze back to meet Alara’s, pausing for a moment before nodding and slowly lifting her arms above her head. Much better. 

       She peels the shirt off of her girl in one deft motion and tosses it onto the floor. Sliding into place on the couch, she slips her claw-tipped hand over Voltaea’s shoulder and presses her nails gently into it to guide her forward. To her relief, there’s not much damage to speak of; a small, timid looking bruise on her tailbone, a slightly angrier one on her right shoulderblade, and some light scuffing on both elbows. “Barely a scratch on you” Alara leans forward and plants a brief, soft kiss near the nape of her neck before guiding her back upright, “I do have a good cream somewhere you can use for the muscle aches, though I’d wait until after you shower.” 

       “Oh, right.” Voltaea sighs heavily - “This means I have to get up again, doesn’t it?” 

       “I’m afraid so.” Alara rises first and helps her girl to her feet with considerable effort. “But I promise you’ll feel much better after some hot water.” Voltaea sways unsteadily for a moment before finding her bearings and giving a weak nod. She stands there staring expectantly at Alara for a long moment - What are you waiting for? She sits back down on the sofa and makes a gesture toward the bathroom. “Off you go, darling.” 

       Voltaea opens her mouth like she wants to say something but thinks better of it, turning on her heels and making for the door. She pauses at the threshold and looks back over her shoulder, chewing nervously on her lip. Cute, but I still need you to get on with it. Alara smiles and purrs - “Do you need my assistance with something or are you just enjoying the view?” Voltaea’s cheeks burn scarlet and her eyes go wide as she whips around and pushes into the bathroom, quickly shutting the door behind her. Too easy. 

       Alara waits on the couch until she hears the shower running faintly in the distance, then heads straight for her bed, sprawling across the top of the sheets and lighting herself a cigarette to pass the time. After a few seconds of bored silence, she starts to flip through the channels on the television to find something worth watching. Shopping channel? - no, is that a cooking show? - absolutely not, soap operas? - perhaps if I wasn’t currently living in one. She stops dead on a news broadcast where the two commentators are discussing something animatedly in front of a looping reel of Voltaea attacking Marcelus at the parade - We’re still newsworthy, bravo! She scowls a little when they replace the loop with a video of Pontius, the stylist responsible, being escorted by a trio of peacekeepers out of his studio and looking very undignified throughout the whole ordeal. Apparently - the host emphasizes this comes from an anonymous source who may or may not be trustworthy - he’s been fired for providing a tribute with a weapon, and there’s discussion of changes to the styling guidelines for next year's games to emphasize that costumes should not have the ability to harm contestants. That last bit brings her smile back - Ha! I was right, we did leave our mark.

         She finishes her cigarette, looks over her face in a hand mirror, adjusts her dress, fidgets, watches, waits . If you could just hurry it up a bit. Her eyes wander to her dresser and she contemplates - no, I’ve had more than enough of that for now. Her teeth itch, her thoughts race, she tries to catch back up to whatever the newscasters are saying but none of it seems interesting enough to keep her occupied. The bathroom door creaks open just as she goes to flip through the channels again - she tosses the remote and props herself up in a more photogenic pose.

       Voltaea steps out in a different robe than usual; one of the red ones - I pull the color off better, but it’s cute that you’re trying to get my attention. Her eyes wander nervously around the room, to the television, back to herself, avoiding looking anywhere near the bed. I hate waiting. “Are you feeling any better, my sweet?” Alara breaks the silence and their gazes lock. Better.

       “A little bit.” she shrugs, shifting nervously on the spot but not moving from it. 

       Alara gestures to a spot on the bed beside her. “Are you going to come and tell me what you’ve learned today?” 

       She doesn’t have to ask twice - Voltaea nods quickly and skates across the room to the other side of the bed. She hoists herself onto it, rearranging the pillows and stretching herself into a comfortable position. She groans again and drapes an arm over her head, covering most of her eyes - “I don’t hurt as much, but I still feel pretty sick.” 

       Alara waits a beat, then leans down to whisper softly in her girl’s ear - “And whose fault is that?” She traces a single, clawed fingertip down the back of her spine while she speaks. 

       Voltaea shudders. At first there’s a stiffness in her muscles but it melts away by the third vertebrate the nail scrapes over. Her voice is breathy, slightly panicked - “When I took that stuff, I didn’t know I’d feel like this after…” You seem to be incredibly short-sighted about a lot of things today, but I’ll set that straight.

       Alara lets her finger trace back upward until she reaches the back of her girl’s head - she wraps her hand around, tilting it gently to the side. Her whisper is sharper this time - “And what should you do when you don’t know something?” She leans closer and traces her lips gently over Voltaea’s earlobe to another soft gasp. 

       “Um…” Hesitating. “I should… look it up somewhere?” That's… not quite what I was looking for. Alara stops abruptly and tilts the girl’s head back to face her, wearing an unimpressed look. There’s silence for a moment as Voltaea scans her face like she thinks she’s going to find the right answer somewhere in her contouring. Then finally - “I should… ask?” There it is.

       Alara smiles, nods, bends - she trails a few deliberately delicate kisses from her girl’s collarbone back to her ear. As she reaches it, she bites. It’s barely a nibble, but apparently it’s enough to draw a sharp, breathless curse from Voltaea’s throat before she lets go. “So if you have the bright idea to take something you know nothing about again-” She digs her nails harder into the back of her scalp to make the point stick . “-what will you do first?”  

       The answer comes quick this time, in spite of all the squirming - As it turns out I’m an excellent teacher - “Ask?” 

       “Good girl.” Alara plants a last kiss right at the scarred part of Voltaea’s collarbone and the poor thing practically convulses under the touch. She doesn’t linger - she breaks away and sits upright. 

       Voltaea stays lying there, trying to control her breathing. When she sees Alara looking at her she quickly contorts her face in an attempt to look disinterested , rather than disappointed at her absence. It’s a failed attempt. Very funny, though. Alara turns to lean over the side of the bed, rifling through her bedside drawer and pulling out a tube of medicated lotion. “Roll over for me, darling - I’ll take care of those bruises and we can talk about what else you’ve learned today.” 

       “I…” Voltaea starts to say something and then trails off and sighs heavily - “Okay.” She flips onto her stomach and props her head up with a few pillows, tilting it to get a better look at what’s happening around her. 

       Alara shifts, sliding a hand under Voltaea’s midsection to untangle the knot on the front of the robe and slip the belt off - “Probably should have had you do this while you were upright…” She mutters, mostly to herself. Voltaea takes the hint and helps her disentangle the rest of the robe before she tosses it to the floor. Now that she’s bare from the waist up - besides that ugly necklace -  Alara runs a hand across her back until she finds the bruise at the base of her tailbone and rests her fingertips across it. “So what did you learn from this one?” 

       “Um… don’t fall?” Wrong answer . She presses down on the bruise just slightly but it’s enough that Voltaea flinches. 

       Alara keeps her voice calm - not accusatory, just questioning - “But what went wrong? How did you fall?” She releases the pressure and waits for an answer. 

       Voltaea closes her eyes. Twitching, tensing - then - “The first time I fell it was because I tried to grab her knife and left myself open. The second time I fell… I guess I left myself open again, after I grabbed her.” So you do understand! Alara squeezes a small amount of the lotion onto her fingertips and rubs it into the bruise as her girl breathes a sigh of relief and says “I did get her at the end though.” 

       Alara laughs - not at her girl so much as at the strange sense of recognition she feels when she hears those words. “And I couldn’t have been prouder, darling.” She traces up Voltaea’s back to the bruise on her shoulderblade, then leans over to kiss it. “But you left yourself overextended because you took unnecessary risks. Which leads to my next question.” She sits up and rests her fingertips in the center of the angrier-looking bruise. “Knowing what you do now, about the… potential outcomes of your unnecessary risk-taking; do you really think it’s wise to be traipsing around thirty feet up without a harness and taking apart dangerous explosives on a whim?” 

       Voltaea has the audacity to try and correct her on a technicality - “Oh, that mine wasn’t dangerous, it was totally inert.” 

       Your smart mouth can wait until we’re done learning - Alara presses her fingers into the bruise - much harder this time - and her girl lets out a sharp hissing noise through gritted teeth. Releases. “You know very well that I didn’t literally mean the one you used in training.” She punctuates her words with a few more stiff presses. Waits.

       Voltaea shuts her eyes, bites her lip in thought, then finally - “I thought you wanted me to be bold, though? Wasn’t that just like… the bold version of what I already do? How is that worse than traps?” I… you little shit, don’t use my own words back at me!

       Alara sighs indignantly - “Because darling, I don’t have to worry about you vaporizing yourself when you’re tinkering with one of your little wire inventions.” she gestures wildly as she speaks - “At worst you might end up with a cut, or a singed fingertip, I’d imagine.” Voltaea’s expression softens, she cranes her neck around to face Alara fully as she continues - “And as an aside; reckless and bold are two entirely different things! I would categorize landmines under ‘reckless’.” She shuts her eyes and the words keep falling out of her mouth - with far more emotion than she intended - “I’ve seen at least half a dozen tributes in my time either jump the countdown, or try to reactivate those wretched devices without the first idea of how they work. Do you know what happened to them?” Her heart thunders into her throat and she doesn’t wait for an answer - “Not one went home recognizable. Do you think that’s what I want for you?” A coppery taste wells up on the back of her tongue as she clenches her jaw.

       She hadn’t noticed that Voltaea rolled back onto her side until a hand reaches out and catches her own, snapping her attention back to the girl on her bed. She smiles brightly, then strips Alara bare with a single sentence - “It feels kinda good to know you’re worried about me.” I suppose that might have been too vulnerable. She whips her head around just in time to hide the pink flush that assaults her cheeks - Voltaea just keeps talking and making it worse. “I mean - We talk about how great you think I am, or all the technical stuff all the time and it’s just… I don’t know… It’s good to know you care about me not dying too.” Darling you have to stop talking. She has to shut her eyes to stop herself from saying something aggressively sentimental. The hand around her own squeezes tighter as her girl continues - “You don’t have to be embarrassed, it was… actually really nice.” She sighs and makes a half-hearted attempt to pull her hand away that she quickly abandons when Voltaea’s grip tightens around it again. We’re teetering on the edge of too much softness, Alara - say something flippant!  

       In her head it sounded flippant, but as soon as the words erupt from her mouth she can taste how badly she’d failed that assessment - “Darling, I love you too much to let you live out this lifetime thinking I’m nice.” Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!

        It’s not just the three words she should never under any circumstances have put next to each other in Voltaea’s presence that taste so rotten - the cloying sentimentality in voice nearly makes her sick. Oh yes, you’re doing wonderfully at keeping the upper hand, Alara! And how is that oh-so-brilliant plan you had to let HER come to YOU coming along? The sarcasm in her thoughts cuts worse than usual in the wake of her accidental confession. 

       Voltaea takes it upon herself to salt the wound by tenderly cupping the side of Alara’s face and whispering - and without a hint of irony! Gods, I can’t… “I love you too.” Kill me.

Chapter Text

Honesty: Voltaea

       It’s when Alara drops her accent that Voltaea realizes they aren’t playing a game anymore. “You know very well that I didn’t literally mean the one you used in training.” - It’s her voice, but there’s no inkling of the posh Capitol affectation that can usually be found at the edges. I’ve never heard this before? Whatever she’d taken for the pain dulls her thoughts, but she pieced enough together to be pretty sure they’d been playing Alara’s idea of an educational game. Alara asks a question, Voltaea gives an answer. A quick buzz on her back for wrong ones, a prize for getting it right - like one of those trivia shows Ohma watches with Dad, hah. It doesn’t feel like that now - those last few buzzes were a little too deep and personal to be just for fun. Why did she change the rules? 

       There’s a brief moment where the static’s too loud and her jaw’s too tight and her muscles hum in pain; She has to shut her eyes just to sift through her thoughts enough to find the right words - Don’t hesitate. “I thought you wanted me to be bold, though? Wasn’t that just like… the bold version of what I already do? How is that worse than traps?” 

       Alara flinches - shakes it off - waits. That might have been too much? She’s tense and tapping and staring at Voltaea like she might want to smack her but then she opens her mouth and says - “Because darling, I don’t have to worry-” Oh! That’s what all this is about? The last hour snaps into full focus - She did all this because she was worried about me? Rolling onto her side, she can see it written across Alara’s every movement now - hear it in the tone behind every word - Shit, I should probably pay attention to what she’s actually saying. It’s… a little hard to follow with how fast she’s speaking and the unfamiliar music to her voice now that she’s dropped the accent that makes Voltaea’s entire body feel like it’s being thrown into a lit coal furnace - Ugh, it’s just so much better this way; “- without the first idea of how they work. Do you know what happened to them? Not one went home recognizable. Do you think that’s what I want for you?” 

       I only caught half of that, what do I even say? Alara looks like she’s going to bite through her tongue. Grinding her jaw, shifting her arms around from crossed, to on the bed, to smoothing her dress. When one arm flies close enough to her in another nervous gesture, Voltaea grabs it by the wrist - I guess I’ll just keep being honest then? That’s how we got here, right? - “It feels kinda good to know you’re worried about me.” It’s true; until this point Alara had only ever expressed how much certainty she had in her ability to win - This makes it feel… more earned? Her mentor is staring at her now with a pink-tinged, flustered expression - I actually caught her off guard again? Quick, say something! “I mean - We talk about how great you think I am, or all the technical stuff all the time and it’s just… I don’t know… It’s good to know you care about me not dying too.” Or ramble. That works. Idiot. Alara slams her eyes shut and the pink in her cheeks turns red, jaw clenching, still silent - Oh. Or maybe that worked too well? 

       In an attempt at comfort, Voltaea squeezes the hand held in her own even tighter and says - “You don’t have to be embarrassed, it was… actually really nice.” Alara tries to pull away, weakly, still avoiding her eyes - she keeps her grip tight. I don’t know how I keep fucking this up but I’m not done trying. Her thoughts feel like they’re entirely made of sludge now; half the medication’s fault, half her own for not being able to read minds. If I could read her mind this would all be a lot easier. 

       As if on cue, Alara decides to just speak it instead - unaccented and half-breathless, singing a tune she hadn’t expected to hear; more alluring than any song she’s heard before - “Darling, I love you too much to let you live out this lifetime thinking I’m nice.” Shitshitshitshitshit.

       The next move is instinct - her free hand finds its way to cradle the side of Alara’s cheek. Voltaea doesn’t think ; It's more like chasing after her own body in slow-motion calling out to consider her words carefully as it reacts to the statement on its own in real-time - “I love you too.” 

       Static floods her senses - should I have said that? Alara flinches back from her like she’s been slapped, ripping her hand from Voltaea’s loosening grip - I probably shouldn’t have said that. Her chest tightens, heart thunders. The th-thump is slowed by the pain pills but it still hits the same bass note that slaps the back of her eardrums - please say something. Silence; deafening if not for the sounds she picks up from herself. Alara smooths her dress, expression unreadable - should I say something? Her gaze wanders everywhere in the room but in Voltaea’s direction - please say anything? Everything suddenly feels very exposed - I should put the robe back on at least… 

       As she turns to grab it from the floor she feels a clawed hand latch on to her upper thigh - “Stop.” Alara’s voice is ice - she freezes at the command. “I didn’t tell you to put that on again, did I?” Voltaea shakes her head - I should… um… “Lie back down. We should finish our lesson.”

       Wait. “No.” The nails in her thigh dig deeper but she keeps talking - “You can’t just say something like that and not talk about it! It’s not like anyone has ever… I mean… my family, mostly my sister… but…” she keeps trailing off, her thoughts falling back into sludge as she tries to find the right words. 

       “It was a slip of the tongue, there’s nothing to talk about unless you’d like to dig into your apparent inability to separate your… infatuation with me from genuine care. Now lie down.” Liar. Every twitch of Alara’s lips, the hesitations, the shifty glances - it’s evident enough to Voltaea that she’s scrambling. It only serves to frustrate her more. She’s the one who brought it up! Why is she being like this now?

       Don’t apologize. Don’t hesitate. “No - I want to talk about this.” She tries to keep her voice measured but there's a bite to it - “You can tell me you know better all you want but I heard what you said and you heard what I said! You can’t just undo that because you like to pretend you don't have f-” 

       Alara interrupts her - cutting, clean and cold - “You can either lie down and cooperate or you can sleep in your own room tonight.” 

       “I…” Voltaea tries to protest but her words fail her as her stomach threatens to lurch out of her body at the thought of being alone. I can’t… fuck! She throws herself backwards onto the bed without another word. 

       “Good girl.” The phrase doesn’t carry the same comfort it usually does but it still sparks an unbearable heat between her legs that makes her thighs clench - damnit! Control! Her movements don’t escape notice - she burns red as Alara lets out a low chuckle and releases her grip to trace a claw down the length of Voltaea’s leg. “See what I mean, darling? Infatuated . It can be very easy to confuse the two-” The claw traces back upward, dragging a pleasant tingling in its wake before pinching just slightly too hard on her upper thigh again. “-especially when I was being so careless with my own words.” She’s trying to distract me. Think! 

       Voltaea is finding it very difficult to think between the static and the feedback from Alara’s hands shifting again - “I don’t think you were being careless, I think you were being hone-AH fuck-” She chokes on the word as her mentor’s fingertips graze over the top of her undershorts, sending a shockwave up her spine that forces her eyes shut. Asshole!

       “You were saying?” She opens them again just to glare up at Alara who now wears a hint of a smirk at the corner of her lips. 

       Voltaea’s mouth moves without her mind again - “I was saying that you were bei-mmm-” Instant regret; Alara moves quickly and slides back across her most sensitive point causing her to bite her lip to stop herself from making some ridiculous noise - “Stop doing that while I’m trying to talk!” Her arms feel foreign and heavy when she tries to push Alara’s away and there’s a taste of copper creeping across her tongue from where she’d bit harder than she thought. 

       Alara removes her hand and examines it, smirk sharpening as she rubs the tip of her index finger to her thumb. Turning to Voltaea with her eyebrow raised, she purrs - “Are you sure, my sweet? Because it certainly doesn’t feel like you want me to stop.” Before Voltaea can respond, the older woman leans down and gently runs the fingertips she was just looking so intently at over her cheek - she recoils almost instantly from the damp touch - oh. I… shit. I didn’t ask for it to do that! The persistent scarlet in her cheeks spreads to her chest and she battles the urge to bury her face under a pillow as Alara speaks again - “In fact, by the feeling of it, you’ve been wanting this for a while now -” Her touch returns to Voltaea’s lower half, tracing her nails down her abdomen - it does nothing to alleviate the growing tension in her core. 

       The ambient sound of the television seems to fade further away with every touch. Alara swings one leg over her own, lifting her dress just enough to make the maneuver. She tilts her head to the side, watching for a beat - then without warning, presses her lower thigh into Voltaea’s center. One of those sounds escapes her this time before she can bite it back. “Mhm” It feels incredible - it feels like there was something important she was supposed to be doing. Even as her hips start to lift upward in search of more of that feeling, she gathers herself together enough to object - “Wait, please, can we just talk first? I don’t want…” Alara puts a single clawed finger to her lips and all her objections melt into the bed beneath her. 

       There’s no trace of the ice in her mentor’s tone anymore, it’s back fake-accented fire - But I do know she’s really faking it now. - “Don’t lie to me about what you want, darling - you’ve practically soaked through to the sheets.” Embarrassed rapidly devolves to mortified as Voltaea looks down and sees a slight shimmer on Alara’s thigh where she’d pressed into it. Oh no that’s-

       “Shit - I’m sorry!” No apologies! Damnit, breathe - There’s no catching back up to stop her mouth at this point, her thoughts keep drowning in a sea of sensory input. Voltaea covers her face with her hands - too much - it still doesn’t stop the throbbing between her legs or keep her mouth from moving - “I know I shouldn’t say that, I mean, I did listen to the rules and -” 

       “Relax.” It’s a gentler-sounding interruption this time, Alara’s voice coils around her like a velvet snake and she feels the older woman’s hands pull hers down and pin them softly to the bed at her sides. Breathe. “Just let the tension go, darling.” She takes a deep breath and holds it briefly before exhaling. Calm. Her eyes flutter open, taking in the entirety of the woman in the shimmering dress and cascading curls currently perched above her and feels every nerve in her body buzz in response. Collected? “There, see? I can already feel it melting off your wrists.” Her mentor releases her grip on Voltaea’s arms and slowly sits upright, chuckling lightly at every squirm and noise her shifting thigh elicits on the way. “You did say you’d always come for me, didn’t you?” Her hips twitch on their own again and something ignites - I give up.

       Wrapping both arms around Alara’s midsection, she tries to pull her closer - her mentor just laughs. Everything is still sluggish, like she’s not as strong as she should be. Her brow furrows, tensing - “Oh don’t pout. I have excellent core strength, you wouldn’t stand a chance on your best day.” The older woman leans into her grasp anyway, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. As she shifts, her leg pulls away just enough to remove the intoxicating, burning sensation it brought with it - I can’t stand this please just do something just fix this just make it stop fuck - 

       Nothing productive, or questioning, or even snarky escapes her this time - all she manages is a whiny-sounding “ Alara - please ?” 

       “Please what?” Alara traces her claw down the side of Voltaea’s neck and sets her hair standing on end. 

       There is no part of her that wants to speak of the visuals running through her head right now out loud - “Don’t make me say it you know what I mean -” 

       Alara sighs but she doesn’t bother to drop the smirk - She knows she has the upper hand… “I mean, I suppose if you’re too uncomfortable to continue…” Not that! 

       Voltaea groans, slamming her eyes shut like it’ll somehow make saying it aloud feel less shameful - “Please just stop being like this and touch me -”

       “I’m quite literally on top of you, darling, you’ll have to be more specific.” Gods! This is impossible! I can’t- Frustrated, Voltaea grabs her wrist and tries to pull it exactly where she needs it but Alara doesn’t budge. “Don’t be rude, use your words.” 

       Her body screams at her for relief; She barely recognizes herself when she speaks again, digging her nails into her mentor’s wrist with the same desperation that drips off of her every word - “PLEASE just put something between my fucking legs before I die here waiting!” 

       Alara lets out a full-throated laugh before leaning close to Voltaea’s ear and whispering - “I suppose I can oblige that.” 

       While she’s still busy reeling from the husky voice and intoxicating smoke-and-cherry scent of the woman just inches from her face, a hand wriggles its way between the two of them and slips under the band of her shorts. “Ah!” She claps a hand over her mouth and Alara makes a sharp tsk of disapproval. 

       “I thought I told you last time to let me hear you, hmm?” Claws close around her and tug her last shield away - The fingertips wandering beneath her waistband find their target and trace a circle that yanks a whiny gasp from her throat. Her mind screams quiet but her body presses forward like it’s looking for another excuse to make noise. 

       When the next deft swirl of Alara’s fingers hits, she stops caring about quiet and just lets the noise happen. Suddenly, she lifts her hand upward, hovering a few inches above Voltaea’s center and pulling back when she tries to rise to meet it in frustration. “I forgot - there’s just one more thing I need you to tell me before I can fix this ache of yours.” 

       This is worse than torture - “What is it?!” Voltaea whines, still desperately writhing towards the woman above her. 

       “Promise me you’ve learned your lesson about meddling with dangerous explosives.” If she wasn’t so flustered, she might laugh. This is still just about being worried?!

       Desperate for any kind of relief, she quickly answers - “I promise.” For now. But if I see a good opportunity I’d be stupid not to utilize them. Alara seems satisfied with the lie because not five seconds later the heat of her touch ignites Voltaea’s core once again. 

       She moans softly as two of Alara’s fingers slip inside her with little resistance. A part of her wants to hide when a breathless whisper against her neck reminds her of how wet she is; instead she clenches and tries to pull the touch deeper into herself. “Needy little thing, aren’t you?” Alara mutters softly and giggles to herself as she runs her lips over every sensitive spot she can find. 

       Her body starts to melt under the contact; a now-familiar wave builds within her, stronger with every stroke of a finger or tense of a muscle. “Gods, I can feel how close you are, darling.” The pressure is nearly blinding - the dam threatens to break - her ears ring louder with each passing second - please?  

       Just as it feels like she might crack, Alara slows her movements and pulls her back from the edge - “Wait, wh-” 

       Alara presses her lips to her ear again and coos - “What’s wrong? Did you want to finish?” Voltaea nods, still desperate trying to buck against the fingers inside of her to no avail. “Then you’ll have to ask me to let you.”

        The tide of embarrassment at having to ask isn’t enough to drown out her need “Please - gods - let me finish, please?” She hadn’t meant it to sound so much like begging but that only seems to make Alara more excited because she redoubles her efforts and the dam fills to its breaking point in seconds. Pressure building, heat rising - when Alara curls her fingers inside of her she explodes into something halfway between a moan and a prayer before collapsing backward onto the bed in an exquisite shower of sparks with a rush of pressure leaving her body. 

       Much more comfortable than the shower . Her eyes flutter shut and she breathes through her heart thumping loudly against her eardrums until it subsides to a tolerable volume. Alara shifts to move back onto the bed but in the process brushes up against her with a familiar damp feeling that shocks her eyes right back open - “You’re wet.” 

       Alara rolls her eyes and flops beside her - “I don’t see how that’s relevant, my sweet.” Didn’t you try to say your whole reason for doing this because I had that problem? 

       “I could -” Voltaea stops herself; she’s not actually sure what she could do with her complete inexperience. “You could show me how to help you? We have more time tonight…” 

       “Not tonight, darling.” Alara says, flatly. 

       Not a real answer. “But why?” 

       “I said not tonight.” She bites back.

       Still unsatisfied, Voltaea pushes - “You also said that last night, I don’t get it. I thought you liked this kind of stuff?” 

       “I’ve asked Orville to leave us a dinner cart, perhaps you could occupy your mind with retrieving that instead of attempting to psychoanalyze me while you lie around in your underwear.” Pure ice. Alara’s tone is cutting cold again as she leans over to grab a cigarette from the nightstand. 

       Voltaea stares at her for a long while, opening her mouth several times to protest before thinking better of it. Alara flips through the channels as she smokes and ignores her gaze. The standoff quickly grows tedious and she rises off the bed to check for the dinner cart, quietly swearing under her breath at her mentor as she does. I’m going to find out why whether she wants to tell me or not. 

       The door slides open to reveal a covered cart sitting outside with two bottles of wine sitting in an ice bucket on a lower shelf near the spare silverware and glasses. She wheels the cart inside and parks it beside the coffee table, removing the lid to see if anything revives her appetite. The first thing that really catches her eye is a tray of fruits covered in intricately decorated chocolate coatings. She pops a plump red berry in her mouth whole, and while the green bit leaves something to be desired the rest is one of the most incredible things she’s ever tasted. It’s so distractingly tasty that she doesn’t notice Alara has gotten up and made her way over until she speaks - “You know, I had ordered these special for tonight. The wine too.” 

       “For us?” Alara nods and Voltaea’s stomach flips over.

       “I’m terrible at following a plan.” she mutters to herself before taking one of the red berries and biting off everything but the green portion. Ah. She keeps talking with her mouth full - “I had this grand idea that I could convince you to retain all the lessons I needed you to with some sort of gesture like this, and then I went right ahead and let myself get completely distracted with idle chatter about your… admittedly endearing, if confused, feelings.” 

       Voltaea locks eyes with her - “I’m not going to take back what I said. I meant it.” They stay frozen like that for a beat - don’t hesitate - “And so did you.” 

       This time, there’s no denial - just another long, silent, calculating stare before Alara sighs heavily and breaks eye contact to grab herself a plate. “Get yourself something to eat, darling. I want to know what you have up your sleeve for your private session.” 

       She didn’t deny it. I’ll take it for now.

Chapter Text

Disruption: Selica

       “It’s already ten past, I’m not going to take my chances waiting on her today!” Selica spits at no one in particular as she hangs up the phone and rises to her feet, taking a moment to balance herself on the too-high heels the stylists had shoved her into today. 

       She nearly snaps when she hears Ismene giggling from the sofa, where she’s sprawled out obscenely in a pathetic attempt to catch the eye of one of the new cameraboys she’s latched onto - “You did say she told you eleven thirty, didn’t you?” 

       “The point is that I told her eleven , sharp.” Selica turns toward the elevator, making her way there much slower than she’d like. “If I’m not back down in fifteen minutes you can send a search party I suppose.” 

       “What fun is that? I’ll have missed all the fireworks by then.” Glancing over her shoulder at Ismene as she drawls, Selica frowns when she sees her standing to follow - It’s days like today where I wonder if all this is worth it for the price of dealing with these two perpetual children.

       “Oh, absolutely not! Sit down!” Selica barks and the already-buzzed woman immediately drops into her seat with a huff and a theatrical pout. At least this one listens from time to time. To keep her head clear for her less-cooperative charge, she chooses to ignore the rude whisper at her back and steps through the doors. 

       The main lounge of District Five’s suite is largely empty when she arrives, barring a few mute servants who bustle about clearing away any evidence of the place being inhabited at all. Several of them glance in her direction, but none stare for too long aside from one particularly handsome boy near the bar who she spares a wink for before walking down the hall towards Alara’s personal quarters. Without knocking, she pushes the button to open the doors and is met with a flashing red lock indicator on the keypad above. As if I don’t know her - Selica punches in 25272 and the light blinks a happy green . 

       Stepping inside and sealing the entrance behind her, she’s stunned for a moment by just how disastrous the place looks. There’s clothes flung everywhere on the floors around the dresser and the closet, discarded plates of food on seemingly every available surface, at least two empty wine bottles and a spread of glasses - one tipped on its side with its contents dried an angry purple across the coffee table. Perhaps my own fault for not advising her to abstain from drinking with those pills I gave her, but I’ll leave that out of the conversation. Alara has somehow managed to pull herself together into a much less disheveled state than the space around her - She’s showered, at least. She sits crosslegged on her bed in a changing robe, completely ignoring Selica’s entrance in favor of flipping through a data pad sitting in her lap with a sour look on her face. “Oh gods above! This is what’s been keeping you? It’s portable - bring it downstairs!”

       Alara jerks at the sound of Selica’s voice just a few feet away from her, quickly flipping the datapad over so the screen isn’t visible - Do I really want to know what she’s hiding? “ Fucking -” Alara clears her throat, glancing over at a clock before whipping back towards Selica and yelling - “I’m ten minutes late! A personal housecall seems dramatic, don’t you think?!” 

       “If I wanted this to be dramatic I’d have brought Ismene when she asked.” she snaps back. Alara actually seems to calm slightly when confronted with the thought of a worse outcome. Selica takes a deep breath - I do want to know - “Before we go, I  have to ask -”

       “If it’s about the state of this place, don’t. That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out all morning.” Alara lifts the datapad and waves it around - “I’ve been going through my camera feeds trying to -” 

       “Since when do you have cameras here?” Selica juts in abruptly - I’ve never known Alara to allow herself to be filmed out-of-character…

       “I told you I’d be going public with this relationship, don’t act surprised.” Alara uncrosses her legs while she speaks and shifts to the edge of the bed. She spares a last, meek scowl upward at Selica - “You could have warned me not to drink when you drugged me, by the way.” - then stands.

       “Medicated.” She corrects. “And you did tell me, it just didn’t occur to me that would involve filming your most intimate moments. I hope you’re planning to spare the audience the worst angles -” 

       “Nothing unclothed, on my honor.” - Alara’s eyes flutter shut as she sighs heavily - she’s trying to sound dismissive but there’s a flat, quivering note to her voice that gives away her anxiety. “I’m still trying to curate something that suits my narrative, though. That’s why they’re still up.” 

       I’m too soft with her, that’s why she’s like this. Selica does nothing to change that now as she pushes aside her own frustration and puts a comforting hand on Alara’s shoulder - “Tell me what you’ve found out from your tapes while we walk downstairs.” Spoken calmly but it’s not a question, no room for argument - though I suspect I’ll hear some anyway. 

       Her suspicions turn out to be wrong. If only she were this compliant every day. Alara opens her eyes and nods - “Give me a minute to gather myself and we can go.” It takes her less time than that to fly across the room to her dresser, snatching a handbag off the floor on her way past and shoving something from her top drawer inside. She starts her recounting of last night’s events as she walks towards the door and Selica takes the hint to follow - “So I ordered us wine with dinner, of course. All’s well for the first glass - though I finish mine first.” 

       “Of course you did.” Selica mutters under her breath as they exit the room. 

       “ Shut up . The real problem is that I failed to realize after my second glass that her first was still sitting full on the table.” Alara continues chattering loudly, ignoring the sidelong glances of the avox staff as they head into the main lounge. “She was just going on and on with a thousand questions about…” She trails off for a brief moment before continuing - “... the private sessions and I was so tired of it, Selica, I just wanted to eat dinner and think - ” 

       “You’re her mentor, it’s your job to answer her questions not-” 

       “Again, please shut up if you’d like me to finish before we get to the studio. My third glass is where things go hazy, so this is what I’ve pieced together from the video -” Alara pushes the call button for the elevator. “She starts egging me on to drink faster - doesn’t touch her own glass, mind you. At one point she just hands me the open bottle, laughing away the whole time while I don’t realize anything’s going on - arrogant little shit. ” Alara mutters the last part under her breath as they step into the elevator. “I sped up the feed there, but it looked like I had a fair bit more before I keeled over on the sofa. She spent most of the night right in the bed scribbling away in one of her notebooks without a care in the world after that. I don’t think she got more than a few hours of sleep before she had to leave for breakfast this morning.” Selica opens her mouth to say something about the absurdity of essentially accusing her tribute of getting her drunk on purpose when Alara starts talking even louder, voice cracking - “Speaking of breakfast! Once I’ve gathered myself enough to join them at the table, I ask her what her plan is for the private sessions - and do you know what she says?” She doesn’t give Selica a chance to answer. “Nothing. Not a word. She just gave me a big smile and told me it was ‘her secret’” Alara spits out the word secret like it hurts her to say it. 

       Selica can’t help the smirk on her lips. I for one am glad someone has shown Alara how foul it can be to taste her brand of medicine. “So - to recap. You blew off ALL of her questions, and now you’re mad that she won’t tell you what she came up with while you were too drunk to keep yourself upright?” Alara casts a thorny glare in her direction but it doesn’t land - it just makes her laugh. 

       “ It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time… ” Alara mumbles as the elevator slows to a halt. 

       “Apparenlty it was to her. Perhaps try humbling yourself a bit next time, hm?” They step off the elevator into the hallway outside of their studio. “Or don’t. Whichever helps you keep your head together. My investment in your evening activities only extends as far as they affect your ability to do your job. And potentially in how they could boost our ratings.” The last thing I want is to get shipped back to the districts because we aren’t performing up to standards. Not that she’s spent a single waking moment worrying about how much I do to keep this entire enterprise afloat. Selica shoots an angry look at Alara as they stop just outside the door.  

       Her eyes seem to have entirely glazed over - Selica isn’t sure Alara heard a thing that was just said, but she nods regardless before walking straight through the door without another word - not even so much as an attempt at rebuttal. Alright then. She follows the younger woman into the studio.

       Ismene calls out over the chatter of the set crew as mull about waiting for direction - “Eleven Twenty-Eight! You beat your estimate today, Alara, bravo!” she claps slowly and giggles to herself. Alara pauses briefly, narrowing her eyes at the woman on the couch, before turning on her heels and setting off for her preferred styling chair in the furthest corner of the off-camera area. I’m truly not sure whether to worry about or celebrate her newfound ability to walk away from a fight. 

         In lieu of answering such a difficult question, she turns her attention to something that makes sense - managing her show. “Ismene, have you looked over the agenda for today at all or have you just been thinking of something useless to say for the last twenty minutes?” Selica snaps at the half-drunk woman on the couch who sits up with a hard scoff. 

       “Of course I’ve read it – not that it’s changed much from last year’s beyond the names.” 

       Arrogant. “I’m not in the business of fixing things that work. And I did provide us with an absolute trove of information in those condensed transcripts from the training floor.” Selica grabs her own copy of the agenda file off a nearby table and flips to the fifth page - “They start here, if you were looking.” 

       “Yes, and continue for the remaining hundred pages, I’m aware. But Selica, that’s so much reading. ” Ismene whines pitifully - It’s fourty-two pages, and she couldn’t bother to skim?! She bites back the urge to start an unproductive screaming match an hour before showtime. 

       “Have you at least come up with something decent for your Final Cut scores? It’s our most popular segment in the pre-games run up, I don’t want to waste it.” Selica had the brilliant idea a decade or so back to have the Crimson Cut girls put together their own, entirely speculative and unofficial of course, tribute scores. They’d picked up social media engagement almost immediately - with scoring comparisons and very public debates popping up among their audience about if the Cut’s or the officials were closer to reality as the games played out. Smart money always goes with the official scores, of course, but it’s a great way to wrestle funding around the edges. 

       Ismene raises a finger and slips away to her styling station, grabbing a packet of papers from the top and holding it up for Selica to see - “My list, with scores and justifications for every one this time.” 

       She knows better than to ask Alara if she’s prepared - though she does silently remind herself to stick a list of the tribute’s names somewhere in the woman’s eyeline for today’s shoot. Last year she forgot a full third of them, it was a travesty. Instead, she heads for the brunch buffet still set up near the entrance and grabs a fizzy orange drink and a couple of pastries on a napkin before making her way to the couch and draping herself over the spot where Ismene had sat while she’s still preoccupied looking over her list. The remainder of their prep time goes shockingly smoothly - Alara doesn’t lash out at any stylists, Ismene keeps herself from slurring, Selica only smokes one cigarette - it’s the closest to peace she’s had in this place in a long time. Her entire body clenches when she realizes it won’t last. 

       They take their places on set with five minutes to spare, each sporting a different colored version of the too-tight pantsuit provided to them by the styling team - yellow for Alara, blue for Ismene. Probably an ad placement, I wish they’d tell us in advance. The blue one in particular clashes hideously with the rest of the set, but Selica doubts they’d let the woman change if she asked. The stylists have cleaned up Alara nicely, somehow pulling together her usual imposing image even in yellow. There’s a distant look in her eye still, but the second the camera crew starts to count down she snaps her attention to them and contorts her face into a forced, performative grin. Showtime. 

       Selica fixes her own gaze on the cameras and straightens her back just in time to make the countdown - “Good Afternoon to my favorite friends in the Capitol and welcome to this special, post-practice, pre-scoring edition of The Crimson Cut!” The same practiced pause - the same canned cheers over the speakers - - everything in its place - “As always, I’m your host, Selica Vireaux - here with my ever-entertaining cohosts; Alara Vox and Ismene Lux!” Her accent is a perfect blend of Capitol presenter flash and District One elegance - the canned cheers roar exactly on time - just keep going like this for another 90 minutes and we’re clear till the fighting starts. She tries to will the thought into existence as Ismene takes over to introduce their first segment on mentor’s lounge gossip. 

       There isn’t much to fail with this one. Selica enlisted the intern team to put together a few top-five lists on various themes; Funniest Drunk Moments, Most Sexual Tension, Biggest Feuds, and Worst Fashion Crimes. People love mess, and they love lists - perfect execution. All they have to do is commentate along, make a few quips, and segue at the end to the next segment. Things seem to be going smoothly until they step into the “Fashion Crimes” segment and Alara’s half-finished makeup look flashes across the screen behind them at Number 4. Alara falls completely silent when she sees the picture of her face. Just push the show forward, don’t panic - “Oh don’t sulk, Alara dear, you’re only at number four! It could be much worse -” 

       “I made the Drunk Moments list twice last year, you’ve yet to top that!” Ismene butts in from the sidelines. No reaction from Alara. Just silence. I’ve never seen anyone kill the energy so quickly, gods. Selica tries to recover with a few more quick quips before moving on. It takes until the end of the slideshow for Alara to recover her ego enough to fully participate again and she manages to introduce the next part of the show without a major incident. 

       Selica takes over for the disclaimer portion before they begin - “Now I am required to remind you that mentors and tributes are not allowed to discuss what they’ve seen on the training floor publicly. Everything that you’re about to hear is based on speculation from third-party sources - not first-hand accounts. This is for entertainment purposes only, and shouldn’t be considered a news source.” It’s a transparent lie, but one she’s well-practiced at telling after all these years. 

       Given that neither of her co-hosts had bothered to read her transcripts in full, she does get some very convincing reactions of surprise to some of the information she comes forward with - always helpful, thank you ladies. Cymbria had managed to pick up some fun interpersonal drama on the mic over the last few days  - The highs and lows of the various alliances and the many failed flirtations of Marcelus seem to get the best banter going among the girls so she leans into those topics until it’s close to time for a commercial break before they transition to their last segment. 

       “Back again this year by viewer demand, we’re going to wrap up our show today with our Final Cut - a set of completely unofficial, totally speculative scores from our panel of victors based entirely on our very biased judgement.” Faux cheers - a dramatic dimming of the lights - so long as these two stay on track we’ll be golden. “And to keep with tradition, we’ll start with my own home District, One!” 

       “How convenient it must be to come first by default.” Alara mutters just loud enough for the mics to pick up. 

       “I’ve never claimed not to love it.” She bites back. “Anyway. We have twenty-four tributes to get to and not nearly enough time, so let’s keep this moving quickly. Debates to a minimum, ladies - save it for your social pages.” They’ll debate a bit anyway - but reminding the other two seems to keep it to enough of a minimum that they only have to rush through the outer districts. “From my district we have Cymbria Vale and Marcelus Glint. We’ll start with Ismene and work back to me.” 

       Ismene leans back and sighs - “It’s always so hard to judge them like this, I want to love them all.” Gods give me the strength not to cringe at her. “Cymbria is very pretty of course, scary with a knife - I’ll go with a 10. Marcelus is gorgeous too, don’t get me wrong - that hair! But he seems… denser than I’d like in a victor. I’ll give him an 8, for the spirit of perseverance if nothing else.” 

       “Mmmmhm.” Alara hums. “I’m not going to be as generous with your idiot, Selica. He’s a 4 at best. I think that boy has made an enemy of nearly everyone in the playing field.” I hate when she’s right. Alara pauses for a long moment and clears her throat before saying. “I second the 10. Good knife skills, career stock type. I’d say she’s a solid pick for - ahem - safe betters .” 

       “I have a bit of an extra bias, being from their mentor pool - but I’m going to step away from you here and score Marcelus at 6 and Cymbria at 8. I agree that the boy is mostly fluff, but Alara - you’re underselling some of the raw skills underneath that. He could surprise us.” Selica’s co-hosts are staring at her with confused looks as she continues - They’ll know I have a new favorite. “The girl is an impulsive wreck, too. She’s just as likely to get herself killed doing something stupid as he is.” 

       Alara gasps sarcastically - “Selica, I had no idea you were so cold with your own tributes.” She’s trying to imitate Ismene’s overblown drawl - It does sound like something she’d say. 

       “Look, you all know that I always do my best to be honest, pragmatic, and fair in my opinions. I’ll always do my best to train these kids - but I can’t lie about my confidence in them to our loyal fans .” Before either of the others can say something, Selica pushes forward with her very carefully constructed itinerary - “Onto Two, she flips the page on the binder in her lap to refresh her memory of their names - “Cassia Brigg and Tiber Strade -” 

       “I’m using my 11 this year for both of them!” Ismene interrupts her before she can finish. 

       Alara scoffs - “You only get one per year, darling, don’t cheat.” Please don’t let this evolve into an argument - She had laid down the ‘one 11 per year’ rule when Ismene had gone on a kick of scoring every tribute as high as possible. This ended up sparking an online debate about the ‘realism’ and ‘thoughtfulness’ of such takes given that no tribute has ever scored a 12 and they rarely broke 11. She was sick of hearing about it within a day - never again.  

       “Fine, ugh, let me think-” Ismene grumbles under her breath for a moment - “10 for the girl, 11 for the boy - I think he wore that armored parade getup with just a touch more flair than she did.”

       Alara doesn’t wait for prompting, she just says flatly - “8, for both. They’re big, yes, but gods - so dull.” She taps the side of her head lightly - “I swear I’ve seen maybe three cohesive thoughts occur between the two of them the entire time I’ve watched them, and they seem to get less common with every chest bump.” 

       Selica deals them both easy 10’s and moves on. Three proves to be a low scorer across the board for both tributes this year - both fairly young, both in training to be computer specialists - poor things, that never carries over to the arena very well. Things are middling for the Fours, with the general consensus among the group being that neither tribute stands out enough to have stolen their focus. 

       It’s when they get start to discuss Alara’s charges that her carefully crafted plan starts to crumble, with Ismene’s next words causing the first crack - “Alara, that girl of yours is absolutely striking . Love the half-doomed alliance, the funky traps, the unpredictability.” Alara nods along until the other woman pauses for a moment and says - “All the more tragic that she won’t make it back to us - an 8 from me. Your boy -” 

       Ismene doesn’t get a chance to say what she thinks of the boy because Alara interrupts her - “What makes you think she won’t come back, exactly?” Don’t start.

       “I mean, she’s volatile - that’s fun but you never know how it turns out in the real world. And even you have to admit she has some weak points in direct combat, especially compared to some of the Career contenders wh-” It’s the ‘Career’ mention that gives away Ismene’s game - She’s baiting her on purpose?! 

       “OH YES, because they’ve been such a reliable bunch this year! The six of them can barely -” 

       “Girls! Back to the task at hand!” Selica tries to steer the show back on track in spite of the rising tension.

       Alara takes a deep breath. Pauses. She looks directly at the camera, speaking with a silky tone and a smile once again - “To get back to the scoring, Voltaea takes my 11.” What a shock. “In spite of what my ill-informed co-host seems to think, she has the best chance in the field at a victory this year, I guarantee you’ll like what you see of her out there.” Selica can’t help but roll her eyes - Delusional. Completely. The next judgement surprises her more - “The boy takes a 7 - and it’d be higher if he wasn’t a weakling. He’s smart, good at reading people, keeps up morale. Not so great on his own, but he’ll make sure that alliance of theirs works out as long as he can to the benefit of everyone in it.”  

       In an effort to avoid another fight breaking out, Selica is more generous with her score and less scathing with her reasoning than her thoughts scream at her to be - “I’m not so sure she takes an 11, but I’d give the girl a 9. Strong fundamentals, good allies - though that leaves her open if they kick off early.” Alara writhes in her seat like she’s fighting back the urge to scream an obscenity at her for daring to score her perfect pet anything less than the highest she can. “The boy gets a 5. I think he’s dead weight for the most part, though I’ll entertain the idea that he has a use.” 

       Alara disrupts the entire broadcast once again to make herself look foolish, not helped by Ismene’s choked laughter in the background - “You're both moronic if you think she's not a top choice based on her performance in training alone. Just completely underestimating her! You can talk about the technicalities all you’d like but everyone on this sofa knows what it really comes down to is a w-”

       “I said no debates!” Selica cuts her off abruptly - I have no patience left for this today - “We’re moving on!” 

       The ‘no debates’ rule holds out through one full District worth of commentary until they touch upon Seven and Alara somehow manages to drag the subject back to her favorite fixation. “... so I’m going to give her a 9. She has an arrogance about her that I despise , but she has good taste in company. Not a chance at winning, though.” 

       Ismene giggles and Selica has to restrain herself from swearing at her on live television - As if it wasn’t hard enough to shut her up without the added sound effects! “Gods, it’s so cute that you think your new favorite has a chance this year! I like this much more than the ‘sad, mopey, dismissive’ Alara we’ve been getting the past few seasons. I’ll miss this fiery you when she’s gone.” 

       “Come over here and mock her chances to my face, darling.” Alara drops her voice to a low, almost growl “I’ll show you fucking mopey -”

       “Censors, Alara!” Selica hisses as she gestures to the sound crew to add the cover-up effect before the 1-minute airing delay ends. 

       Alara doesn’t acknowledge her, but she does stop herself from lunging across the sofa to strangle her co-host long enough to close her eyes and breathe - “The last I’ll say of it is that any potential sponsors out there should hold off on committing their money until they’ve seen what my girl can do.” Gods, just let this show be over soon. 

       Selica does everything in her power to facilitate that, rushing through the remaining tributes in record time and backtracking on the idea she’d written down to give her highest score to the girl from Seven - It seemed an unnecessary fight to pick given that Alara had already escalated to threats of bodily harm this afternoon. Ismene does take a moment to wax poetically about how ‘gorgeous’ and ‘soulful’ and ‘doomed’ her twin tributes have been until Alara opens her mouth to interject and she has to shut them both down again. 

       Audience interest tends to be lower overall in the outer districts, so besides Selica’s acknowledgement of Ten’s potential as a dark horse contender that the other two vehemently disagree with; the finer points get glossed over when they speak about the last few. Back on script, the canned cheers roll out as they finish the segment and Selica stands to deliver her closing statement. “With that, we’ll have to leave you for today. We’ll be back with live commentary and highlights starting on opening day with our Bloodbath Special, along with two very special guests who will be joining us for a behind-the-scenes look at how the magic happens, as it happens! With love from your favorite victors, until next time.” She blows a kiss to the camera as the canned cheers roll for a final time, holding the position until a stagehand gives her the ‘all clear’ signal. 

       Before she’s even turned herself around, Alara springs up from the sofa and starts towards the exit - Oh no, not without at least a lecture - “After all that noise, you’re running off again?!” she freezes in place as Selica snarls at her, but doesn’t say anything. She tries to ignore the hush that seems to have fallen over the crew as the two of them stand there silently in the center of the studio. An agonizingly silent moment passes before Alara starts walking again instead of addressing the situation. Asshole. “Alara!” 

       She turns around just long enough that Selica can see the tears welling up at the corner of her eyes before whipping back around and leaving through the door without saying a thing. If she’s going to be like this every time someone mentions that girl dying, it’s going to be a very long Hunger Games season. 

       Selica pulls a cigarette out of her handbag and lights it before looking back at Ismene, still sprawled comfortably on the sofa and looking far too happy with herself. “Don’t smirk.” Selica snaps at her, but the woman just raises an eyebrow like she finds it amusing - “I saw you baiting her back there - what were you hoping to accomplish?” 

       “It’s fun to watch her squirm sometimes.” Ismene shrugs, “But it wasn’t all for fun, she’ll thank me later.” 

       “Why’s that?” 

       “It’s kind of romantic to fight for the one you love, don’t you think?” Ismene giggles again - I despise that sound . “Look, it’s simple. She needed a credibility boost just as much as I needed to get my kicks. That woman isn’t remotely believable as a hopeless romantic with her current reputation. Now she’ll at least look the part of… a delusional romantic, if nothing else.” Selica stares at her, mouth agape - not at all what I expected. “What? Her success is our success, and if the people don’t buy into this… Well. It’s a risky play, and I’d like to keep my job. It’s so much harder to find good wine back home.” 

       Selica looks her over for a moment - “It may not help, but I can’t argue with the reasoning.” she reaches out a hand - “Should we take this time to drink and commiserate about our ‘dear friend’ dragging us into her controversies?” 

       Ismene grabs ahold of her with a huge smile and no hesitation - “You had me at drink.”

Chapter Text

Friendship?: Sarah

       “That leaves… uh… three groups left.” Sarah looks around the room to double-count - With us, that's… yep! Nine here, three to go. Shit, we’re not gonna have any time to talk before they start calling us in. “Should we send someone to check on them?”

       “No.” Bashir shakes his head and sighs -“But they’re going to be the last ones here at this rate. Feels weird though. Coulomb’s beat us here every day so far. I never know what to expect with V but he’s been pretty consistent.”

       “Maybe he actually got some sleep?” Sarah quickly whips around when she hears the doors open again but turns back when she sees it’s just the Capitol weirdos with their clipboards again. It’s like the fifth time they’ve come through, what are they even doing at this point? They just seem to walk through the oversized waiting room nodding back and forth to each other and scribbling things down, scowling at anyone who tries to talk to them. One of the guys hanging around the back of the group stares at her a little too long for comfort and she locks eyes with him, slowly raising her middle finger in a rude gesture. Yea, that’s right, stare harder! He scoffs loudly, spinning on his heels to follow the rest of the group through the room to the second set of doors on the other side. “You know what the best part of the Games is gonna be? I never have to look at another one of these glitter-covered muttfuckers again.”

       “Only if you lose. If you win, you get the honor of letting them cover you in glitter once a year for mentor duties!” Bashir laughs; Sarah scowls at him - I hate glitter so much, I’m still pulling that shit out of my hair from the parade. “On the bright side, only a one in twenty-four chance of that happening - we’re probably safe from that fate.” He laughs again, too late, too forced - it’s the third time he’s brought up death this morning and pretended he was joking. He thinks he’s so slick about it but man… poor kid. 

       “Bash, buddy, you know we-”

       He cuts her off - “Please don’t say it’s going to be fine again.” Sarah doesn’t push it. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but it just makes it worse.” 

       “Alright. Just… if you want to talk.” Sarah pats him on the shoulder and trails off - I never know how to end these conversations. 

       Bashir leans back in his seat and turns towards the doors again - “I know. Thanks.” 

       The two of them sit in silence for a few minutes - Ugh. Bored. Sarah picks up a pen from the side table by their couch and starts fiddling with it. Click-click-click-click. The ugly side eye Bashir gives her tells her that’s probably too much noise, so she switches to juggling it back and forth - Hey! I’m pretty good at this! Adding a second pen into the mix only makes her more confident. Her ally looks less annoyed, more mildly amused now. The third pen makes this much harder, but she manages to keep them all afloat until the doors swing open again and she drops the whole bunch onto the floor - oops. Oh hey! There they are! She steals a quick glance at a clock on the wall - 9:21, they’re gonna start calling us soon - but better late than never!

       Coulomb walks in first, half-shuffling, bags under his eyes - still tired, poor kid. Do they just like… not sleep in Five? Both of them always look so wiped. She’s already waving him down before she registers the two people coming in behind him. Who’s the lady in the bathrobe? The woman walking arms-linked with Voltaea looks Capitol in almost every way - too symmetrical, too shifty, too sparkly - but she’s never seen anyone here walk around in their pajamas like this. Weird. The bathrobe lady stops them near the door, standing on her toes to whisper something in Voltaea’s ear that makes her face turn a bright, angry red before leaving as quickly as she came. Huh. Even weirder. Her ally’s gaze follows the woman out the door until it shuts again behind her, startling her back to the present. 

       The kid’s perky voice snaps her into the moment just after - she’d completely missed his approach. “Hey guys!” He plops down right in the middle of the large sofa, between Sarah and Bashir. “Are you nervous about your private sessions?”

       Yea, of course! “Nah!” Sarah turns to him and grins from ear-to-ear. It’s the only way she’s been able to deal with her fear so far - beating it over the head with rejection instead. “What’s there to be nervous about? All I have to do is go in and whack a few dummies with an axe.” She mimes whacking someone in the head with her axe - sound effects included. Both the boys stare at her with raised eyebrows - she shrugs at them; “Maybe I’ll throw a few too, if I’m feeling fancy.” 

       “I wish I knew how to fight like you guys.” Coulomb says solemnly - Is everyone gonna just be sad today? This sucks. 

       “I don’t know how to fight - that’s all her.” Bashir gestures at Sarah. “I’m just gonna disappear into a corner somewhere and wait out my time when it’s my turn. I don’t think fifteen minutes is long enough for a good nap or I’d just do that.” She rolls her eyes at him - he’s better than that - but keeps her mouth shut to avoid setting him off on another nervous spiral. 

       “I lost almost every fight I got in yesterday, if it makes you feel any better.” Sarah jerks in surprise at the sound of Voltaea’s voice - Damn, I really gotta start paying attention! What’s Blight keep saying? ‘Situational awareness, Sarah’. And now I’ve got like… two days to practice that? Not doing great so far, I barely noticed Sparky coming over. I thought she was still staring at- oh yeah!

       She jumps straight over her allies’ ongoing conversation that she’d tuned out of to ask - “What’s up with the bathrobe lady? I swear I’ve seen her somewhere before.” 

       Voltaea stops mid-sentence, looking at her with eyes wide and mouth agape. Coulomb answers before Sarah can figure out what’s so surprising about that question - “That’s Ms. Vox, she’s our mentor. I think she just likes to keep an eye on things, so she followed us down today.” Oh, yuck, I’m sorry.

       Sarah knows exactly two things about Vox - that she’s on some Capitol TV show, and that her own mentor is absolutely terrified of her. She’d tried to ask him why when she was trying to get this alliance set up in the first place but all he’d tell her was that she had a ‘nasty reputation’ and that he didn’t want to end up as the next subject on her gossip show. That didn’t stop her from pushing for it anyways, but he’d dragged his feet and complained about it the whole way. Coulomb seemed to be scared of her too - though to be fair, he’s scared of all kinds of shit. 

       Voltaea looks rattled - and red. “I’m sorry she follows you guys around like that.” Sarah tries to console her very embarrassed-looking comrade but she just glows redder as the kid beside her squirms - Ah, shit. I’m making people feel worse again. Um… distraction! She pats the last open spot on the couch to try and get the other girl to sit - “Look, I can see that she has to suck to be around - so let’s talk about something fun and forget about it? I saw our favorite dumbass from One trying to make a move on-”

       “She doesn’t suck.” Voltaea cuts her off and sits down on the couch. Her tone isn’t mean, but it is firm - Okay then, whatever you say buddy. 

       There’s a brief but awkward silence as they stare at each other before Coulomb breaks it by asking - “V, now that we’re down here - can I know what you’re doing in there today?” 

       Voltaea smiles - it’s that too-wide, slightly unhinged one that Sarah saw her wearing yesterday when the trainer brought out the mines for her. Oh yeah this’ll be a real sane plan then, I’m sure. There’s a nagging voice at the back of her mind that sometimes asks her if it was a good idea to choose an alliance based on who was willing to attack someone first, but she shoos it away as soon as it gets loud enough to hear. Way, way too late in the game now for those kinds of doubts. “I told you at breakfast, it’s a secret.” 

       “Oh come on!” Sarah has never heard the kid whine before and she has to choke back a laugh. Coulomb leans forward in his seat so he can look past her at Voltaea with the saddest, poutiest look he can muster on command - “You told Ms. Vox it was a secret to her but I’m your partner, don’t I get to know?” 

       “Nope.” She doesn’t even blink at the kid when she says it, just keeps her face locked in that spooky grin. “You never know who’s listening in a place like this.” Voltaea pauses for effect, then throws her head back and laughs before sinking back into the couch and relaxing with a loud sigh. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be dramatic. But I need to keep it to myself for now - I promise I’ll tell you as soon as I’ve done what I need to do, okay?” 

       Sarah can’t hold herself in anymore and butts back into the conversation - “Ok but, like - now I want to know why it’s so secret. I mean, I told everyone my plan!” 

       “I assume it was something along the lines of ‘hit things with an axe’.” Voltaea says dryly. 

       “Yeah, well. It’s not much of a secret that you’re probably making traps again.” Sarah snarks back. 

       Voltaea smirks - “Sure, but I’ve got something really big in mind.” 

       Sarah scoffs at her - “How big can you really get in fifteen minutes?” 

       “Hopefully big enough to stand out.” With that, Voltaea changes the subject - “But I’m done talking about training - that’s all we’ve done for days now. Let’s go back to the fun stuff again.” You were the one who interrupted, my friend. 

       Sarah pushes aside her momentary frustration to get back to the gossip at hand, and they spend an easy half hour going around on the couch whispering about some of the stranger things they’ve witnessed their fellow tributes doing. After running the numbers, they put together that the only tributes Marcelus hasn’t tried to flirt with at this point are the ones under 15. For a minute, she almost forgets that they’re in the Capitol and she isn’t just hanging around with an old group of friends from back home - at least until Voltaea stops them abruptly to point out that one of the clipboard-wielding staff members just came to pull out the girl from District Two for her session. This is it then, it’s started. “So they just get to leave after they’re done, then?” Bashir mumbles. “Must be nice, I wish I was from One. We just have to sit here half the day.” I’m ready to get this over with too.

       “At least we’re not from Twelve.” Coulomb replies, looking over at the two scrawny-looking tributes from Twelve huddled with their allies, who had pulled a few couches and chairs together to form a tighter group earlier. “They have to sit here and watch everyone else go first, it must be terrible.” Sarah can’t look at them for more than a few seconds without feeling her chest clench at the thought of having to simmer in this room all day. 

       The dread that has sat coiled in her stomach since Reaping Day rears its ugly head again - Ugh, no, not now! Keep your shit together! Sarah starts talking to distract herself from it. “We should play a game or something, maybe it’ll make the day go quicker.”

       Coulomb’s eyes light up at the idea - “I love games! Well. Um. When they’re not the Hunger Games, anyway. What were you thinking?” 

       Sarah hadn’t actually thought that far, she’d just said the first thing that popped into her head. Well, that’s on me. “I’m not sure, but give me a minute - I’ll think of something good!” Alright - games, games, games… what kind of games do I know? I wish we had cards. At least I know card games. Maybe we could-

       Her train of thought derails when Bashir voices his suggestion - “We should try to guess who’s going to die first.” 

       Sarah would have smacked him a little for that if the kid hadn’t been sitting between them - “Oh come on, what the fuck, Bashir?” He shrugs “That’s way too grim. I meant like… Go Fish, or something.” 

       “My pick is Kito Spark, he's the boy from District Three.” Voltaea doesn’t miss a beat before talking straight past Sarah with an answer - she spins around to glare daggers at her but she keeps going - “Small, jumpy, low skill - only has his District partner for an ally. I’d say it’s a decent bet he goes first - definitely early if not.” How does she even remember all their names? Shit, I barely remember all of our names. Wait a second- 

       “Nope, stopping this right here. You guys are messed up.” Sarah raises a hand in either direction to her allies but neither listens- 

       “I’m going with the girl from Six. Every time I see her she’s coughing or half-asleep. I bet she’s sick - that has to be a disadvantage, right?” Bashir fires back with his own theory and Voltaea makes a hum of approval. Coulomb sits silently, eyes lowered, fidgeting with his hands. 

       Sarah raises her voice slightly - she hopes it’s still quiet enough the rest of the room won’t overhear - “Stop! Come on, you’re making the kid upset.” 

       “It’s me-” Coulomb says, choking through tears. His voice rises as he speaks - “I’m gonna be the first one to go, I know I am! I keep having dreams about it, it’s all I think about, I know it’s me!” Great, now everyone’s worked up! 

       Before she finds the right way to calm him, Bashir wraps the other boy into a hug and apologizes - “I’m sorry. This was stupid.” Coulomb nods, choked sobs subsiding slightly. “I keep thinking I’m going to be first, I just thought… I don’t know. If I had someone else in mind, I’d stop thinking about it.” Damn it, now I’m thinking about it too. 

       “I think maybe we should talk about literally anything other than death right now, if you guys want to keep your minds off of it.” Sarah can’t hide the exasperation in her voice - “Like, ok. Topics… topics… um…  What’s the weirdest-looking person you’ve seen since we’ve been in the Capitol?”

       This turns out to be a big enough topic - between stories of a snake-skinned stylist, a girl with four foot tall green hair, a man covered head to toe in shimmering purple ink, and a long tangent about how weird the fabric is in the Capitol, the conversation starts to flow freely again. It’s not until the clipboard crew comes for Voltaea that reality starts to sink back in. Oh gods, here we go.

       The chatter between them falls dead immediately as Voltaea waves her goodbyes with a smile - “I’ll see you guys tomorrow! Good luck!” If she wasn’t watching closely, Sarah might have missed the moment where her smile drops like a stone halfway through turning around to leave - she’s not ready for this either, huh?

       Silence looms over the group as Sarah watches the minutes tick down - no one is bothering to pretend now. First five… then ten… then fifteen… They’ll be coming for the kid any minute now, I think. Then Six. Then me. With a deep breath, she steels herself for the rest of the agonizing wait. 

       It’s twelve minutes past when the clipboard crew is supposed to return that she notices she’s not the only one starting to feel antsy. Coulomb drums on his legs, eyes shut, trying to hide the shaking in his bottom lip by biting down on it. Bashir works through cracking what seems like every joint in his body, making the poor kid next to him flinch with every sharp pop they make. What’s taking them so long? Everything has been on time so far, what’s going on now? 

       “Do you think something happened to V in there? Is that why they haven’t come for me?” Coulomb’s soft voice snaps her out of her thoughts.

       She wants to say something comforting, but all that she manages is her actual thoughts; “Maybe, but who knows?”. All she knows is it’s now fifteen minutes past when they were supposed to come back for the kid and some of the others seem to be taking notice if the increasingly frequent glances at the clock are any indicator. I mean, shit, did she light someone on fire again? What’s taking so long? 

       The boy hangs his head - “I wish I could have talked to her more last night, but she’s always staying over in Ms. Vox’s room so I never see her.”

       It takes Sarah a second to process what he said in full and even then she’s not quite sure she heard him right - “Wait, what do you mean she’s staying over in her room? Like overnight?” 

       “They said they were having strategy meetings, but she goes in after training and comes out at breakfast.” Coulomb says bluntly. “Mr. Orville keeps telling me to stop asking questions about it, but I wish I knew what they were talking about in there.” 

       That gets a laugh out of Sarah, much as she tries to keep a straight face - I wouldn’t want to answer those questions for you either, little buddy. Not for a couple years at least. The earlier interaction she saw between the two of them seems much clearer now, with this context - I mean… she’s kinda old, I think? But… you do you, Sparky. Or her. Whatever makes you happy. Hah- Shit! Focus! Kid upset, find words. She pulls herself together enough to mumble a brief - “Sorry, not you, just thought of something funny…” that only convinces Coulomb if the wide-eyed look she’s getting from Bashir is any indicator. She mouths ‘minding our business’ and gestures back and forth between them over the kid’s head so he doesn’t catch on. “Anyway, I’m sure they have… um… some very important strategies to discuss while they’re in there.” She clears her throat, stifling the urge to laugh again - “But I’m sorry she keeps ditching you, buddy, that’s not cool.”

       “Maybe I should have just asked to join their meetings. I guess I was too nervous to push it.” I don’t think you want to join whatever meetings they’re having there, bud. “And I don’t like that they drink so much together. I’ve seen Mr. Orville bring a lot of bottles over from the bar and I think that might be why she got sick ye-” 

       Before Coulomb can finish his sentence another voice booms out over the room - “Alright tributes! We’ve had a brief delay but we’re just about ready to get started again-” Sarah looks back at the clock one last time - brief my ass, that was twenty-two minutes! “- and I need all of your cooperation to get things moving as quickly as possible. So if you don’t mind, I’ll have the next tribute to go come and line up here by the door as soon as the previous one is called. We’ll start by asking Coulomb Vexel of District Five to come with us - Sixes can line up to go next.” 

       Coulomb stands and waves a nervous goodbye before following the intruder out of the room, leaving Sarah and Bashir waiting by themselves once again. He breaks the silence first - “Can I say something without you taking it the wrong way?” 

       Probably not, if I know myself. “What is it?” She looks over at him and he averts his eyes, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. 

       “I think…” He stops for a moment and breathes in deep through his nose - “I think you might have picked us someone unstable to team up with and I’m worried how we’re going to handle that if things go badly in there.” Bashir has taken the quiet whisper at the back of her mind and spoken it out loud, where it can’t be tucked away and ignored. Damn. “I mean, I hope I’m wrong. It’s just some of the stuff Coulomb mentioned today about her… and some of the stuff we’ve seen… especially yesterday.” He glances back at her, looking for a reaction - man I have no idea how to feel about this yet, you’ll have to wait a second. Instead of waiting, he keeps talking as if it’ll help her think faster - “And today, with that delay? Tell me you don’t think that was weird timing with her being the one in there, not telling us what she’s going to do…” he trails off. 

       Nothing he’s said so far is wrong - but shit, I like the two of them. And the kid did nothing wrong. And we need the extra hands… “We can’t just ditch them, we won’t have any help.” Sarah recalls that manic grin she’s seen twice now on Voltaea’s face that unsettles her so much - “Maybe we should have our own warning signal. If we feel like we might need to slip away once we’re in the arena, we flash the signal, and we go as soon as the coast is clear.” She pauses, adding - “Not that I think we’ll need it, this is just in case, you know?”

       Bashir is quiet for a long, uncomfortable moment before he asks: “Do we tell Coulomb about it? He’s been nothing but good to us so far.” 

       He’s also not wrong on that point - the kid has been the one to keep them working together smoothly anytime things get off track. But then Sparky blows him off every night to go drink with her new girlfriend and he’s still asking if she’s okay, shit. I feel bad, but - “I hate to say it, but I don’t think he’d leave even if we did. They know each other from before - like cousins or something, remember?” She in fact, could not remember what Coulomb had told them the first day they’d met about how he knew Voltaea from back home - but that sounded close enough. “Or. Whatever they are - they know each other a lot better than they know us. He’s not gonna trust us over her - we’re better off keeping this between us and hoping it doesn’t come down to that.”

       Bashir nods - “So we agree to put each above our allies, then?” 

       “It sounds kind of bad when you say it like that, but yeah. Basically.” She chases away the lingering thought of guilt that creeps in when she says it out loud - it’s to keep us alive, not to be mean. “I don’t want to end up in a situation where Sparky loses it and blows us up, that’s all.”

       Bashir stares down at the floor for a long minute before mumbling - “I don’t either.” 

Chapter Text

Frustration: Alara 

       It’s quiet in the lounge of the District Five suite apart from the background chatter coming from the television as Alara flips through the channels. She’d only stopped off in her quarters long enough to change into something comfortable before settling on the sofa. Orville is out handling the bulk of - well, the entirety of, really - the scheduled meetings with their regular sponsors. She’d made a cursory show of flipping through the financial reports he’d left on the bar for her before slumping into the couch to wait, all glowing. Alara has to admit to herself, begrudgingly, that he’s doing excellent work. It’s been hours since she last saw her girl, and not knowing what she’s up to on the training floor only adds to her growing frustration. There’s nothing good to watch, nothing productive to think about, nothing to do but sit around impatiently waiting for Voltaea to show back up and give her something useful to work on - she digs her nails into her thighs just to feel something else for a second. If you don’t hurry up -

       Ding! Alara whips around as the elevator door chimes and the doors slide open, pulling a smirk together just for her girl only to have it shatter the second she sees the two Peacekeepers pushing her out of the elevator - oh gods above, what did you do this time?! The taller officer turns to Alara, his clean white helmet reflecting one of the bright overhead lights into her eyes and making her flinch - “This one stays on this floor apart from officially sanctioned appearances, understood?”. We hadn’t been going very far anyway, but I’m very interested to know how you managed to get yourself put on lockdown, darling. If Voltaea is at all upset about her current situation, she doesn’t show it - her girl stands a few paces in front of the uniformed officers with an ear-to-ear smirk on her face like this was exactly the outcome she’d been looking for. 

       Before Alara has a chance to properly ask them what all the fuss is about, the Peacekeepers have turned to leave - “You could at least do me the courtesy of telling me why I’m being assigned additional duties as a curfew enforcer?” She calls after them but there’s no response - the doors slide shut behind them leaving the two other women alone. Unbelievable! Not a single person I’ve spoken to today has been reasonable with me! Contorting her face into the most skeptical scowl she can muster, she spins to see Voltaea hasn’t so much as squirmed - her girl just stands there, staring, smiling, waiting for her to say something first. You’re never going to win this sort of challenge with me, my love. 

       It’s less than a minute before she breaks and asks - “Are you going to tell me what you did now that you’ve made a scene or are you going to continue testing my patience?”. As much as she tries to keep her tone snappy it comes out sounding almost like pleading - Pathetic, pull it together! The infuriating smirk on Voltaea’s face just gets wider - she shakes her head and spins on her heels, disappearing down the hallway at a near-sprint. Do you expect me to run after you? With this sort of behavior?! 

       Alara’s teeth itch, she grinds them together - I’m not stooping to this level. The burning of her claws digging into her own flesh does nothing to center her - You can’t seriously believe this would work!? She reaches into her purse to grab her vial of stimulants only to realize she’d taken the wrong drugs in her rush to leave with Selica this morning - So to top it off, she’s completely sabotaged me! Swearing under her breath, she pushes herself up off the couch and starts - slowly, of course, I’m not desperate - making her way towards her quarters. As she rounds the corner, she sees no sign of her girl - already inside gloating to yourself, I’m sure. I’d leave you to rot in there if I didn’t need a pick-me-up right now. 

       She stops at the door, gathering her composure - shoulders back, eyes sharp - Time to show you how badly you’ve miscalculated this attempt at playing me. Bursting into the room with all the confident fury she can muster, Alara stops short when she sees the curtains on her bed have been drawn - completely childish! “Voltaea, come out here right now!” There’s no answer from her girl - just the ragged edge of her own flustered breathing and the involuntary tapping of her claws against herself. With a huff, she stalks across the room and flings back the curtains to reveal a perfectly-made bed with smooth silk sheets. Then where -

       There’s no time to think - there’s barely even time to turn around and make sense of what’s happening when she hears the rapidly-approaching footsteps and Voltaea smacks into her with enough force to knock her off-balance and send them both crashing into the bed behind her. “What are you-” A hand pressed over her mouth drowns out the rest of the question - Alara lets out a muffled scream of anger that the girl propped up on top of her shakes her head at, shifting her weight back to her feet so she can hold one of her free fingers to her lips - Don’t you dare shush me! The protest comes out as garbled noises against Voltaea’s palm and she leans an uncomfortable amount of her weight onto it once again to keep the older woman quiet. Enough! In a last-ditch effort to regain her pride, Alara grabs hold of her girl’s arm and pulls it off her face yelling angrily- “Voltaea, I swear to e-” 

       Calmly, firmly, but very loudly - her girl interrupts her mid-sentence - “Do you want to know what happened in there today or would you rather it stay between me and the Gamemakers?” Oh, is that how you’re playing this? Voltaea untangles her arm from Alara’s grip and pushes herself to her feet, standing up and looming over the bed with a condescending look on her face. 

       “Of course I want to know what happened, I’ve only been asking about it all day!” The pathetic note of pleading that still hangs over her words makes Alara’s stomach clench. “I’d also like to know why you’re being so ridiculous about all of this - I mean, really, tackling me in my own room?!”  

       “I’m being ridiculous?” Voltaea raises her voice, incredulous - “You told me you loved me and then spent half the night trying to argue yourself out of it whenever I tried to talk about it!” Alara, already halfway to sitting upright, slumps back again at the mention of her embarrassing show of vulnerability. Her girl softens herself again, just slightly, before she continues - “So when you went to sleep-”

       “When you got me drunk enough to sleep, you mean.” Alara protests.

       “You weren’t being helpful while you were awake, I needed space to think through my plan for today.” Voltaea says bluntly - “So anyway, when you went-” 

       Alara scoffs - “I’m not being helpful ?! All I’ve done since we got here is help you, darling! Not that you’re acting like you deserve that help right now, not with that-” 

       The hand claps over her mouth with more force this time - “I don’t think you’re acting like you want to hear what happened today.” Voltaea turns Alara’s own words back on her. “If you did, you’d be quieter.” I should hit her - no - kill her for that! Instead, her body relaxes under her girl’s grip and she sighs heavily - raising her hands above her head in a gesture that feels uncomfortably like surrender. Alara dear, you don’t have an ounce of self-respect in your body, do you? Why it’s Selica’s voice that chides her at this moment, she doesn’t know. What she does know is that despite every thought she has protesting, she can’t stop herself from looking up at Voltaea with desperation in her eyes. I’m going to die worthless if I can’t pull it together for something as simple as a lecture. “Are you going to be quiet now?” Her self-loathing thoughts are once more interrupted by the girl standing above her. 

       There’s a silence between them - mostly an attempt to salvage some shred of dignity on Alara’s end - before she nods and Voltaea uncovers her mouth. Part of her wants to scream the second her girl lets up but she can’t muster the energy for it - just lies there, bested for the second time now by her own masterpiece. An angry blush overtakes her - she can feel the burn start in her chest and slide into her cheeks leaving her completely exposed in a way that she’s become unsettlingly familiar with this week. 

       “Like I was saying before, you weren’t being helpful - and you definitely weren’t listening to anything I was saying. So when you went to sleep I had to figure out some way to get you to hear me again.” Voltaea breaks the silence to start explaining herself and this time, Alara keeps her mouth shut - better to put you in your place after I’ve gotten what I need, I suppose. “You hate secrets.” True, though I hate that you’re saying it so smugly even more! Her petulant reply stays firmly in her head as her girl continues - “So now, if you want to know my secrets - you’re going to do something for me first.” Oh really, is that so? Voltaea looks down at her expectantly - And I suppose I’m meant to ask what that is? 

       “What exactly do you have in mind, darling?” Alara sounds almost breathless when she speaks - a far cry from the neutral tone she’d intended. 

       Voltaea closes her eyes and tips her head back, taking a deep breath, face contorting just slightly like she’s been suddenly struck silent by nerves - If you’re going to act like this the least you could do is stop hesitating about it! As if on cue, her girl whips back to look at her with something more like fire in her eyes than amusement now. She raises two fingers - “Two things. First, you’re going to be honest with me about what you said yesterday.” You’re not dropping this, are you? Voltaea shifts herself onto the bed so she’s on her knees straddling Alara’s waist - it upsets her more to know that she let her girl do it than the act itself did. “And then, you’re going to teach me how to do that thing you do with your tongue.” 

       Her first request feels like a slap - her second is more like being tossed in front of a stampeding horse and left to be trampled. “Absolutely not!” I’m done playing this game. Alara moves to sit up but Voltaea presses her back into the bed. 

       “Why not?” Her girl raises an eyebrow at her, smiling softly - is this fucking funny to you?!

       Alara practically spits her next words, venomous - “I don’t owe you an explanation for anything when you’re the one behaving like a childish brat!” This time she puts her whole weight into pushing Voltaea off of her - she doesn’t budge. How is this even possible?! I spend eleven months a year keeping this body in PERFECT fucking shape, how are you stronger than I am!? 

       “Okay.” The flippant, flat way Voltaea says it makes Alara want to scream again but she clenches her fists instead - don’t give her a single INCH of satisfaction here - “I don’t understand why you keep avoiding this, but I’d like to get it figured out before I end up dead in a couple days so-” 

       “Don’t you dare suggest-” Alara hisses straight through Voltaea’s fatalism but she cuts her back off again-

       “Well, it’s pretty distracting trying to figure out how you’re feeling and how to survive at the same time-” 

       “Oh, for FUCKS sake!” Alara slams her fists into the bed as she cries out in a pained voice - “You’re COMPLETELY insufferable!” Stop it there, don’t slip. Don’t give her a reaction! “You’ve been shamelessly attracted to me from the second we met-” Voltaea opens her mouth to protest and Alara yells louder to shut her down “Don’t even start! It was written across your face clear as crystal. And then - SOMEHOW - you managed to pin me in a position where I’M the one who’s confessing my love to YOU like a desperate whore and I DESPISE myself for it.” Hot tears of rage streak her cheeks as she betrays herself yet again with her mouth - “And then you ask me to open myself to you like it wouldn’t completely destroy me to do that and then LOSE you somehow-”

       Voltaea cuts her off with a kiss that rips the air from her lungs and leaves her gasping when she pulls back all-too-soon - “That explained a lot, actually. Thank you.” Her girl flashes her a smirk so sharp it could cut steel, then locks eyes with her - why do you insist on keeping me waiting like this?!

       “I’m getting very tired of these staring contests, V-” Alara gasps as she feels a slender hand slip inside her silk robe and slide over her sensitive breast “-Voltaea!” She barks in protest but doesn’t move except to arch her hips involuntarily into the girl straddling her lap - fuck - “What are you doing?”

       “I told you there were two things, didn’t I? I think you started on me like this, right? Or was it this that came first -” Voltaea leans down, crashing her lips into the side of Alara’s neck and scraping her teeth down the side - half-bite, half-kiss. The moan escapes before she can stifle it and she can feel her girl smiling triumphantly against her skin as she mumbles something that sounds like “That worked out well.” and unties the robe to pull it open entirely. 

       “I’m fairly certain I kissed your neck gently , I didn’t try to devour it.” Alara, now fully exposed to the girl on top of her, tries to drag her ego out of the mud it’s drowning in with a raft built from sarcasm - “If you can’t even pull off decent foreplay, it’s going to be hopeless to try and teach you the finer points of - mmmgh, fuck !” A sharp nip to her collarbone forces another guttural noise of arousal from her that she stifles with a loud swear. 

       Voltaea stops for a moment to mutter - “I guess you can just keep telling me what to do this way, if you’re not going to be any help when you talk.” You ridiculous, overconfident, smug-mouthed little f - Alara’s train of thought derails as her girl leans in and kisses lower, biting down as she trails over the peak of her breast and drawing out another desperate noise of approval. Voltaea looks up at her, sounding amused when she speaks- “Huh. The first time was an accident, but that’s the third time that’s worked. Do you like to feel pain?” Before she can answer, her girl pinches the other nipple sharply between her nails and Alara whines desperately through gritted teeth - useless! “That’s a good insight to have, thanks.” A dull ache at the base of her skull throbs in time with her rising heartbeat and she silently curses herself for not properly medicating the second she walked into the room. 

       “You think you’re… so smart… don’t you…” The pathetic, breathless way Alara’s voice sounds to her ear right now makes her wonder why she bothered to say anything in the first place. A sudden press of fingertips against her inner thigh - “I can’t- you can’t-” A quick bite to the spot her girl kisses just below her navel breaks any hope she had of seeing that sentence to completion - “Gods-” 

       “I’ll assume that’s a good thing.” The deadpan way Voltaea says it might have made her laugh if she wasn’t pinned underneath her girl struggling to keep the growing wetness between her legs from overtaking her sensibilities. A second hand grips her other thigh and pulls them apart with more force than she’d thought possible. 

       Suddenly, there’s an absence as Voltaea pulls back to look her over - eyes narrowed, chewing her lower lip almost nervously . It’s then that Alara notices the shaking in both of the hands that hold her in place - “Really? You’re hesitating now?” Perhaps I haven’t lost control after all. “You almost had me convinced you were past that, darling.” 

       That gets to her; a crack forms in Voltaea’s calm demeanor and her next words come out sharper - “I’m not hesitating! I’m thinking.” Of course you are, and that’s why I’ll win. She tries to put out of mind the rest of the evening’s losses - You caught me off-guard then, but I see you now.  

       Alara takes her chance - she sits up, a hand on either of Voltaea’s shoulders, and shoves . It’s enough to knock her backwards with a soft thud as she catches herself from landing on her back and sits flat on the carpet, looking up at Alara with wide-eyes. No hesitation - she strikes, slipping off the bed and onto the floor where she leaps on top of her girl in a fluid motion before pressing her back into the floor. I really should stop doubting myself. Alara grins triumphantly as she presses one of her thighs between the girl’s legs and draws a soft whimper from her lips - “See, darling? This is why you sh-” 

       She’s flat on her back before she can finish her taunt - Voltaea wraps her arms and legs around Alara’s body and grapples her onto the floor. Her girl shakes her head and smirks at her - That’s… I… Gods! Even her thoughts can’t find traction, and it’s not any better when Voltaea starts talking again - “I learn a lot of things from you, but I got that move from Cymbria.”

       Alara struggles against her but she can’t get any leverage - tries to tease but it comes off weak and pleading - “Good to see… you were… paying attention.” After a few more weak wriggles, she goes limp on the floor - staring up at her girl with a sour look. 

       Voltaea sighs heavily. They stare at each other like that for a while, unblinking, unmoving, until finally she says - “Can you be helpful and talk me through the rest of this now or do I have to go back to guessing?” 

       Unbelievable. There’s another weighty pause between them - You keep besting me at every turn. Her heart hammers in her throat - I could still put you in your place, you know. She doesn’t say it out loud, she’s too busy losing herself in the heat tearing through her core - But why would I bother when I could just… 

       Alara gently wraps her claws around Voltaea’s wrist, guiding her hand exactly where she needs it to be. Tensing when her fingertips first brush against wetness, her girl quickly relaxes under her grip. “Have you ever touched yourself before?” 

       Voltaea turns scarlet and looks away - “What does that have to do with anything!?” Must everything be such an embarrassment for you? 

       It’s hard to do anything other than writhe impatiently against the contact between her legs, but she does her best to speak calmly - “I’d like to know how much you’ve already figured out - no use teaching you something you’ve worked through on your own.” 

       The poor thing has to take several deep breaths before she can even look back at Alara to answer, sheepishly - “I don’t really have anything figured out” Oh? Alara had known she had a lack of experience with others - but I’d have assumed you’d need at least some outlet for release in that cesspit of a home. “It’s not like I’ve ever had any space for myself to do something like that!” 

       “No need to be defensive, darling. We all start somewhere.” Alara releases her girl’s wrist and pulls back. First things first, you only asked me to talk you through this - not guide you by hand. Voltaea tenses immediately, eyes darting around like she’s looking for an escape. Alara ignores the nervousness pouring off of her - “Take your fingertips from there and trace upward tow- oh!” The girl is incredibly responsive. She hasn’t even finished her instructions when Voltaea jumps into action on instinct - Alara has to grab her again to stop her in the right place before she overshoots it - “Mhhm - right about there. Make one of your notes about that spot - you’ll want to remember it.” 

       Voltaea runs her fingers in a gentle circle over Alara’s clit as soon as she loosens her grip again - “ Fuck - mhm, keep doing that would you? Ah - NOT faster - slow back down. ” At least you’re listening now - Her girl smooths her movements and Alara’s eyes roll back in her head slightly as she tries to keep her composure. She absentmindedly digs her nails into Voltaea’s wrist as she pulls it toward her entrance. “Same… principle… start slowly -” 

       The girl stops moving, looking at Alara expectantly. What could possibly be the hold up? It takes every ounce of restraint she has not to rock her hips against Voltaea’s palm, and even more not to scream when she asks - “Do I just… slide them in there?” Gods above-

       “For the love of - YES - right now, if you don’t mind-” Alara hisses  impatiently. She’s answered by a sharp jolt of pleasure that shoots through her core as her girl finally enters her, fingers curled just slightly - Perfect, exactly the way I… “That’s it, keep going just like that darling-” Her thoughts scatter as her girl finds a sensitive point that sends her hips bucking forward - “Mmmmmm.” She hums to choke the moan that tries to escape her lips and her eyes slam shut. 

       Keep it together Alara, you’re a professional - One of her greatest fears has always been coming undone in front of an audience. No matter how many times she does it - and she has done it, on too many occasions now - the lack of control always makes her feel like she’s choking on ash. Sex is no different - just a performance, stay composed . Another finger slips inside of her and she whines helplessly through gritted teeth - focus! I’m above this! She closes her grip around her girl’s wrist and pulls her even deeper - fucking- I cant- ugh! I’m so close, how is she so -

       Voltaea’s voice cuts through the overwhelmingly pleasurable haze wrapping itself around her last cohesive thought and drags her back from the edge of release - “Alara! Are you listening?” She hasn’t stopped moving her fingers - which is making it very difficult to listen, thank you!

       “Please… just… gods - just finish this before you start talking again!” The pleading sounds pathetic to her ear but she can’t stop herself - I swear if you keep me waiting -

       “I was saying you still didn’t show me what to do with my tongue-” Voltaea slows the motion of her fingers- Oh no-

       “I- you-” Alara stammers, then yells - “For fucks sake, Voltaea - LATER!” She tries to pull her deeper but she can’t so she rocks against the girl’s touch in a desperate attempt to get her to pick up the pace.

       “But I thought the deal was-” Voltaea moves quicker but every time she opens her mouth it breaks Alara’s focus. 

       “Stop talking-” She slams her eyes shut and whines pathetically as she’s ripped back from the edge once more. 

       “But you said-” 

       “ Please stop talking -” Frustration creeps into Alara’s voice as her girl tries to protest.  

       Voltaea stops moving entirely and taunts her now- “I can’t tell you about today if you don’t-” 

       Alara’s eyes fly open and she yells with a desperate, wild edge- “IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP AND FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED- nnngghhh, gods- ” her words are cut off by a breathless cry of pleasure as her girl plunges her fingers back into her with renewed vigor. 

       When she looks up, she sees Voltaea smirking at her triumphantly - “I really do get why you like being in charge, this is fun.” I- 

       There isn’t even a chance to protest in her thoughts before a well-placed thrust of her own hips against Voltaea’s palm shatters her. Alara can hear herself screaming her girl’s name as she comes undone and slumps limply into the carpet. I suppose no one else ever has to know I gave up my edge for the night - It’s the only way she can reassure herself as she lies beneath the girl shaking in a pool of her own sweat and desire. 

       They sit there for a while - bodies locked together, hearts in sync - before Voltaea slowly slips herself out and examines the shine across her fingers with a curious expression. She giggles to herself then looks straight at Alara and says - “I think this is the part where you usually tell me that I’m a good g-” 

       Alara cuts her off abruptly with a sharp hiss - “ Finish that sentence and I swear to every fucking god I will strangle you .” 

       “Maybe next time.” 

       Alara shakes her head and crosses her arms, trying her best to scowl at her girl. “Absolutely not.” 

       Voltaea shifts herself off of Alara’s lap and lies on the carpet next to her, crooking her neck so her head lies on the older woman’s shoulder. Alara makes a half-hearted attempt at pulling her robe shut, then wraps an arm under the girl’s neck and gives her arm a tight squeeze - “I may never grow tired of losing to you, darling.” She mutters it under her breath without thinking but can’t be bothered to chase away the taste of sentiment it brings with it. You’ve destroyed me completely, you know. And it’s my own fault, really, for letting you. That part stays in her head, at least. 

       There’s a long silence between them as they lie there, the ragged sounds of heavy breathing in the air receding as the two manage to fall into something close to relaxation. After a while, Voltaea finally sits up - looking down at Alara with a huge grin on her face - “I guess I should probably tell you about today - a deal’s a deal, right? You’ll at least be happy that I took your advice about making an impression…”

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.”