Every resident of District Twelve had access to a television. It was a requirement, of course. The citizens were expected to keep up with the Games, to watch alongside the rest of the country as children were reaped and subsequently murdered. Participation was not optional.
But television sets only worked for a few weeks every summer.
In the months that followed, as the sky darkened earlier and the days became colder, the televisions were largely forgotten about. People in Twelve typically only got power for a few hours everyday, and if they bothered to turn the television screen on it was filled with salt and pepper static.
Judging by the snarl in Aldera’s voice, however, that was not the answer that she was looking for. There was some sort of expectation in her tone, as though Fava should have known this already.
And, in a sense, she knew that Aldera was correct. She’d seen enough of the Capitol during the footage of the Games that she understood what they were like. Still, she wondered whether every corner of this godforsaken place was this way or if this was merely the crown jewel that Snow was willing to show the rest of the nation and its victors?
Evidently, the Justice Building here was not dressed just once a year and made to sparkle for the television cameras.
She wasn’t sure what to say. Fava knew better than to speak ill of the Capitol, she knew just what was at stake, but Aldera’s fire was the reason that she respected the young woman. There was something worth looking at, an anger that she felt in her bones, but she’d never expected that it woudl be directed at her. Was she like this with everyone? Or was this ire because she’d won where the other tributes in Eleven had lost?
Though she’d seen bits and pieces of Aldera’s games, it was so long ago (and she’d been so young), she couldn’t begin to imagine exactly where this anger was coming from.
She stiffened at once when the young woman turned on her. Fava straightened, drawing herself up, proud as ever and she frowned at Aldera. She could figure it out, she’d figured out so much before, but she’d hoped… It had been stupid of her to hope. Stupid of her to ask. She felt strangely disappointed. This was the one victor that she thought she might relate to. “I’ve figured it out so far,” she replied cooly, “I’m sure I can do it again.”
Fava hesitated. She wanted desperately to know what the Capitol was hiding beneath its glamor and elegance, as Aldera claimed, but she knew that a question would be met with another snarl. Still, what did it hurt to ask? “What it hides…?” Like she’d said before, she would figure it out on her own, but she would rather know firsthand what she was getting herself into before it blindsided her.
Her mention of another drink made Fava step back and she gestured to Aldera. She was welcome to leave whenever she pleased, this interaction had gone on long enough. She understood better now.
Growing up in District Eleven, Aldera had witnessed the cruelties and injustices as Fava must have, too. The Peacemakers were never kind to the outer districts, and especially in Eleven, were they continuously unleashed their brutality to those that tried to run, to stand up against them, who didn’t work, those that weren’t doing anything... It had destroyed the hope inside her to see the people around her being constantly bent and broken. Her father never offered her any hope, either, as he had accepted that this ways life and his father before him and so would Aldera. It will only cause you to get more upset when you think too deeply about it, he’d say. Yet, since growing up in such terrible events, winning the games and the thereafter, it was almost all she could think about sometimes and it did cause her to feel so terribly upset.
“There you go.” Aldera grumbled, actually respecting the answer. She wasn’t here to be some mentor, some idol, some person that people could like, could care about, could rely on. She wasn’t here to help anyone, hell, she can’t even help herself. Twenty-five years old now, and she’s still a walking mess. It seemed that Fava, Hudson, fuck, even the rest of the victors were somehow fairing way better than she was so it felt ridiculous to even be asked for any answers. She had no advice, no real answers that she could give (without absolutely incriminating herself and probably being murdered, for real) but only evidence of her pain and suffering at the Capital’s hands that most elevenians and other districts could relate to, too.
She fell silent, not feeling too daring abut answering her last question. Aldera had often been disgruntled with the Capital and not afraid to show it, but with it, she knew when to hold her tongue or she’d probably be in some serious trouble. She let out a frustrated sound, before shooting the younger woman a glare and shoving past her to find some more alcohol.
