perri hornimoore. district 9 victor.
they didn't have you where i come from
never knew the best was yet to come
life began when i saw your face
and i hear your laugh like a serenade
*
how long do you want to be loved?
is forever enough, is forever enough?
perri & juli’s home in the capitol, post celebration, before the trains leave
( @hcrnimoore. )
It’s a relief to be done with the soiree, and the charade that comes with it. Their mind is racing with thoughts, prepared for a sleepless night scribbling in their notebook, clinging onto memories that threaten to leave with the distortion in their mind tonight. But they’re reminded of their humanity, for the second time in as many hours, instead offered time with an old friend, seeing just how much Juli has grown, and they’re always glad for Perri’s company. They’ve never had paternal instincts, but they adore her little boy, to the point where it’s instinct to try when they’re around him. And she hadn’t been lying to say he was growing, a sharp mind already, curious, something bittersweet in seeing him, a reminder of his age, the danger. After a short visit, though, he’s off to bed, late enough as it is, and their focus is Perri’s.
They’re glad for the chance to talk away from so many eyes, where words have to be chosen carefully. Not that they’re under any illusion that they’re not always being watched. Still, it’s nice, especially with tensions running so high, and the announcement of the Quarter Quell close. After so many years of this, they’re well aware that not every mentor approaches this time of year with distance, dissociation from their role and the hopelessness that comes with getting ready to prepare a new group of children to die, while essentially celebrating the deaths of the last crop. Perri, by their eye, has always managed more of a distance than many others, like them, but nothing can take away the intrusive thoughts, the nightmares they’re certain all of them experience in some way.
As they settle in, Silver finally pulls out the small notebook they’d had inside their awful silver jacket all night, no need for pretense with Perri after so long. “I must say, the excuse to see you and Juli nearly makes being drawn away from my work worth it,” they say, hint of a smile, teasing, as they open their notebook. A smile that softens as they go on, more seriously. “This time of year is never simple. Need to keep the mind occupied, but sharp, as you said.”
Most people would not call their own experience with the Games a positive one. Understandable, really — taking another human being’s life was never easy, even when your own survival was on the line. There are silver linings to this situation, though: namely Juli’s existence, and the company of acquaintances and fellow victors that understood what exactly she’d been through. (Better yet, the Games wouldn’t have happened in the first place and imparted irreparable trauma on them, but alas, Perri was just one person and the Capitol was... well. The Capitol.)
“I’m glad we are only nearly worth being drawn away from your work,” Perri replies, the amusement in her voice obvious enough to show that no ill-intent is behind her words. “Let me know if there’s ever a way to turn that nearly into a definitely — it’ll be a nice challenge, I’m sure.” Silver, then, is one of such silver linings (pun not entirely intended); their presence is always soothing, the way putting a pair of well-worn shoes on after a long time might feel, or how walking home in the setting sun is like, reassuring when even Perri herself could not pinpoint that she had felt anxious in the first place.
“It’s... not easy,” she continues after a contemplative pause. “Do I mourn? Do we deserve to grieve? Celebrate a survival, another one of us? Can I afford to lose my mind in these thoughts every time?” Perhaps twenty years ago she would have spoken these words with tears in her eyes, but today, she only feels a tired numbness. She shakes her head to clear her thoughts. “It doesn’t get any easier. It shouldn’t.”
at first it was only juli on this list, but then it grew and grew and i came to the conclusion that despite perri’s cold exterior (and her own perception of herself as someone unfeeling and incapable of caring), she cares quite a bit more than she likes to admit or to let on. unfortunately this probably means i’ve set her up for a lot of weaknesses haha whoops.
so without further ado: juli blueshade / flax gallocreek / zizania wheatfall / sandor hornimoore
part i. juli blueshade
beloved son.
Perri never sleeps well during Games season.
She never really sleeps well in general, but the restless nights are bad when she’s training tributes, worse since she started taking care of Juli. The nightmares are always the same — their faces morphing into one another's before they become Juli’s, staring up at her with pleading eyes. She must have witnessed him killed for over a hundred times now, like some sick game of spin-the-wheel where he gets to experience every death that her tributes died, every death she could not prevent, every death on her hands.
She wakes with a splitting headache.
The hologram screen in her room springs to life. “Good morning, mama,” Juli’s beaming face fills her vision, and immediately Perri’s heart floods with relief, racing heartbeat slowly calming. Still alive. It had only just been recently that Juli started calling her that. (Before that, she'd been too scared, too unqualified to allow him to call her that. It was always 'Auntie' instead.)
“Good morning,” she greets back, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. If she wasn’t staying at the Training Centre, she would have given him his usual morning hug. “Are you ready to go to school?”
At the question Juli scowls. “Nooooo,” he whines, giving Perri his best pout. He should have grown out of this petulance by now, but Perri is biased — it's endearing still. “I don’t like school. But I made you breakfast!” At this he holds out a bowl of cereal and milk. “See?”
Gods above, Perri loves him, but the small hints of rebellion he’s been displaying lately ages her ten years every time they happen. It’s cute, sure, but if this keeps up as he gets older she knows she can’t keep him safe. Not since she mostly retreated from the social scene at the Capitol to raise him. “That’s so sweet of you,” she smiles, keeping her fears to herself for the time being. Maybe when he was older she would tell him. “I’ll eat your breakfast, and you get dressed for school, alright?”
Juli nods eagerly. “Promise!” he holds up a pinky finger.
“Promise,” Perri echoes back, holding up a pinky finger of her own before his hologram flickers shut.
Back to another day of training.
part ii. flax gallocreek
fellow district 9 mentor.
Perri often wonders if Flax made the better choice.
Flax is a man of few attachments. He returned from his Games bitter (as one should be), keeping a sort of disdainful distance from his family ever since. Perhaps that was what people would call a smart decision. By pushing his family away, Flax keeps them safe. Doesn't marry the man he's always been sweet on, even though he'd promised to be together if Flax makes it back alive. Perri suspects some of it has to do with the fact that Flax had returned from the Games with a temper that he detests, a side of him that he doesn't want to show people he genuinely cares about.
In the end, Flax is probably right. They worked together as mentors, bonded over an unspoken shared weight of being responsible for so many deaths. They'd shared a bed before, once or twice, when Perri was still going through her destructively cynical phase, but they quickly figured out that it was more like pressing down on an open wound than any sort of healing. Flax's kindness has always been brutal; he'd broken things off by telling Perri that seeing her just reminded him of the dead.
Still, it's strange thing. Attachments. Perri had always thought of herself as cold and stand-offish, but recent revelations had shown her that she did have the capacity to care for others, after all. Flax might have been opposed to her caring about him, but she did, in some strange way of hers.
She hopes he doesn't mind.
part iii. zizania wheatfall
fellow district 9 victor; not a mentor.
Zizania is always the earliest to wake in the house. It's difficult to call it 'early', considering she has never slept well ever since she returned from the Games and it was more likely that she hadn't slept at all in the first place. She has a house of her own, but whenever Perri (and often Juli in tow) return to District 9 on the weekends, she stays over at their residence instead, citing the silent loneliness of living on her own.
Which is why Perri is up at five in the morning making pancakes.
There's a resilience in Zizania that Perri almost envies. That's why she's so determined to protect her from the duties of being a mentor for just a bit longer, why Perri treats her like a little sister more than a fellow victor. She’s happy to bear the burden of it all if it means that Zizania can have some semblance of normalcy for just a bit longer.
Footsteps from the stairs signals Zizania's arrival, and Perri turns to greet her. 'You shouldn't have,' Zizania gestures. 'I'm the guest.'
"And I'm the host," she replies, pushing a pancake off onto another plate with a spatula. The pancake-making had ulterior motives (Perri couldn’t sleep at all) but she wasn’t about to admit it "Zi. It's the least I can do for you for watching Juli while I'm gone."
Zizania shoots her a disgruntled look, but it comes off as warmer than she probably intended. 'Thank you.' In a motion of practiced ease, Perri slides the plate across the countertop while Zizania pulls out a set of cutlery from a drawer. She’s been over so many times that she knows where everything is, and Perri’s almost tempted to tell her to move in entirely. 'It smells lovely, as always.'
She smiles. "It's the only thing I know how to cook, after all."
part iii. sandor hornimoore
adoptive sibling.
"I suppose it would be strange to tell you happy birthday."
Perri pauses mid-step. She left for the Games and came back with a kill count and a bad habit of pacing and scratching the back of her wrist when she's nervous. "Oh," she answers at last. Her voice comes out suspiciously light, though mostly because she's still too numb to feel anything. She has a big house now, in Victors' Village. It's also move-in day, and it's her birthday. "It is."
Sandor looks at her a bit funny, and she doesn't meet their gaze. Perri knows it'll be there, that strange mixture of sympathy and cautiousness. She doesn't want to see it, not from them.
"Well, happy birthday." They barrel on anyway. She supposes it's one thing she's always liked about them: their unfailing honesty. Having grown up together as siblings-but-not-quite, with the adults at the Children's Home more or less hands-off when it came to the children's upbringings, the older ones were in charge of imparting the unkindness of the world on the younger ones. It's why she chose Sandor to come to her new house with her, so it wouldn't be so lonely. "I got you a gift. Besides moving into your house, that is."
That did the trick — a bickering exchange so familiar she couldn't help but retort. "You are so stingy," she answers automatically. "Your generosity is noted."
Sandor snorts. "Hey, someone has to keep your ego in check. I thought fourteen year olds were supposed to be mature."
"I didn't think I would get to turn fourteen." All the wind rushes out of her as soon as she says so, and Perri doesn't breathe in the ensuing silence.
But finally Sandor makes the first move. "Here it is." They toss a tightly wrapped package at her, and she catches it on reflex. "Don't open it until I've left the room."
Still smarting from the exchange, Perri can only nod in appreciation.
(Later, she opens it in her obnoxiously large and empty bedroom to reveal a hand-carved whistle. Carefully, preciously, she wraps it back up and places it into the drawer of her bedside table. She doesn't think she can bear to use it.)
The small smile that slips over their lips once they meet eyes, just barely there to anyone watching, practically a grin to those who know them, is perhaps the most easy, instinctual one of the night. There aren’t many people who can draw that smile out, but Perri has been on that list for years, a bond created as two teenagers forced to do unspeakable things only a few years apart, then expected to say thank you for surviving and having to live with the consequences. Her presence at their side is always a comfort now, after so long, and so much.
“I let myself get caught up in my work, only arrived in the Capitol last night. I should have reached out this morning, we could’ve come together, mustered more enthusiasm,” they hum, the lightest hint of teasing. Enthusiasm isn’t something Silver thinks either of them could truly muster for an event like this, but to have a familiar face by your side is something she’s long taught them makes it nearly possible to relax, at least.
They let themself focus on her, a welcome break from their silent task for the night. “It’s a better vantage point now with you here. We might even be safe from disingenuous small talk for a few minutes. How have you been, Perri? And how’s Juli?” Silver asks, a seeming contradiction, but their questions are genuine.
There’s something comforting about slipping back into a regular routine. It’s so easy to let her guard down around Silver, a mixture of the years she’s known them and the pleasant familiarity of it. “You’re never safe from small talk in places like these,” Perri laughs, tracing one finger around the rim of her glass. She almost said the Capitol, but she’s not entirely sure if that’s considered treason. “At least I’m in good company right now. You’re never boring.”
At the mention of Juli, her face softens like it always does when she gets to talk about him. She doesn’t like speaking to the paparazzi about her son, but to a close friend she’s happy to divulge everything. “He’s a handful, like you wouldn’t believe. He used to be such a sweet boy — he still is, but a bit inquisitive for his own good.” She smiles a little ruefully. “They really grow up so fast.”
There’s a pause when Perri considers how she’s holding up. “And I’ve been... you know.” She waves a hand. When she speaks again, her wording is deliberate, careful. “It’s this time of year.” The time of year where we celebrate sending children off to their deaths again goes unspoken. Perri had always thought she was numb to it already, but as it turns out, she’s not quite sure she is anymore. “The festivities, celebrations. Keeps the mind occupied.” As if she doesn’t still see every tribute’s death behind her eyelids when she goes to sleep every night. “What about you? Anything interesting happen to you recently?”
late in the party, outskirts of the party
{ o p e n. }
They despise these events on the best of days, they always have. Nothing about it feels natural, every moment manufactured, every smile take, barely a thought above booze around them. Today is not a good day. It’s one of the days that feels a little electric around the edges, the sort that they’re not sure they’ll remember in a week, a static image in its place. Which is a problem, considering this is a night to remember, to go back over, and copy down every detail of into a journal afterward to begin to take stock of the future.
Impossible not to grip their glass a little too tightly, as they focus, looking around with what an observer may call mild interest from their spot against the wall, wishing desperately they could pull out the small journal in the inside pocket of their (horrendously) metallic suit and jot down notes. But someone’s watching them, too, they can feel that, so instead they opt to become very interested in a nonexistent spec on their lapel while they wait for attention to leave them, even as someone approaches.
“Lovely party,” Silver mutters, not particularly enthusiastically or convincingly, but they had never really tried to be either. Perhaps that’s something they should do, walk around with a smile and try, but that wouldn’t help them now. Changing anything about the way they act here would alert anyone watching––and someone always is, they know this, they help make sure of it, after all––that something is wrong. And they can’t take any chances, not yet. Easier to stand on the outskirts, two sips left of their drink, a calculation, just enough to keep anyone from asking if they want another, and without drinking enough for them to feel loose, as they would at any other Capitol party, and have done for twenty-odd years.
When they can still feel eyes on them after a few seconds, Silver finally looks up, meeting eyes with someone. “Lovely party,” they repeat a little more forcefully, expectantly, knowing there’s no way to escape conversation now.
Silver isn’t one who enjoys parties very much — that much Perri knows. She likes to think she at least understands that much about them, having bonded over their similar ages and similar coping mechanisms against the Capitol: that is, not really having much of one at all. Or at least, as far as Perri knows.
Regardless, it’s still nice to see a familiar face in the crowd. She isn’t quite sure why she hadn’t outright approached him at first; perhaps there was just something about the day’s celebrations that put her a bit on edge. ( It’s hard not to be. And every time she’s out at a party, she’s worrying about her boy at home. )
“Certainly quite busy, that’s for sure,” Perri remarks, the beginnings of a smile tugging at her face once their eyes meet properly. “I have to admit — I didn’t expect I’d run into you today. I would have felt a bit more enthusiastic before coming here, otherwise.” She swirls the glass in her hand, takes a sip from it. “I must say, this is a good vantage point.”
Deezee feels exhaustion barrelling towards her, the need for sleep clawing at her throat and begging for attention. It’s not as though she can dip out and leave and so she does what she always does and grabs her umpteenth glass of whatever the hell it is they’re serving on their pretty silver trays although she wishes for nothing more than to sink into her bed and wake up back in her district, safe and sound for now.
She grabs for a snack too, something high in sugar and likely to keep her on her feet in the towering heels she’d forced her feet into earlier in the evening, but even the sight of the food reminds her of the thick liquid the Capitolites swallow down in order to puke their food back up and she turns down the Avox’s offer of the prettily colour food sent her way.
Glancing toward the voice in her ear, Deezee finds herself face to face with a fellow victor. She offers her a stiff nod in greeting before swallowing back another gulp of the silvery substance swirling around in her glass. “The food is good, I suppose. I never really get used to how fine it is, to be honest. We get nothing like this in Ten.” She shrugs. “They always do, don’t they? This party gets bigger every year.”
“It’s not usually like this in Nine, either.” Or in smaller parties of the Capitol, of what she remembered. Something on this scale could only have done in places where people had enough money, enough eye for opulence, and enough of a grand occasion to justify pulling this off. Celebrating children fighting each other to their deaths qualified for that, apparently. “I’m almost tempted to take a few of these appetizers home for breakfast.”
Perri takes a sip from her glass of champagne, and places it back down on a convenient flat surface. “It wouldn’t look good for anyone if these parties got any smaller, I suppose. Keeps the revelers coming back every year, especially what with this year’s… developments.”
Even if Slate was modest and subdued, it didn’t change the fact that he was still under the Capitol, and he couldn’t much reject whatever it was they wanted him to be dressed in. Thankfully, they typically find a happy medium and he’s able to keep himself looking relatively cool. Black suit with plenty of the gold embellishments that help them feel satisfied.
The interjection from Perri had caught him off-guard. The two barely having talked much and resulting in him not even being familiar with her voice. He figured the two of them kept to their silences, out of distaste.
“The food?” He repeats, looking around, as if he was unsure exactly what she was saying. Mostly because she was. Why have this small talk when she could have easily not addressed him. Regardless, he’ll bite. “It’s certainly a night of indulgences, that’s for sure. I don’t see my fruit in Two, it’s nice to have a tarte.”
She was truly losing her touch, then, if her small talk had reached this level of uninspired-ness. Perri missed having someone to speak for her; Leto had always been good at that.
But she waved the thought away. “I don’t see half as much colour in my usual meals.” Though she did spend more time in the Capitol than some other Victors did, what she ate there often erred on the simple side, preferring the slightly nostalgic tastes of home. “It’s… quite a lot on the eyes.”
With a quick glance across the tables, she found the tarte Slate was referring to. “Is it any good? Anything else you’d recommend?”
Perri had frequented parties, once. At first, it was for the free-flowing alcohol to drown her sorrows. Then, it was for the company of fellow Victors, the only people who had anything in common with her in this gigantic gilded cage.
Then it was for Leto and Vega.
It’d been impossible to return to the scene at first. She’d become a recluse in the initial months after their passing, then with Juli to take care of, Perri simply hadn’t had the time. There had been that one party early on when Perri was frustrated and exhausted from caring for Juli, and in a moment of impulse perhaps better suited to Leto, she joined the revelries for a night.
Fifteen minutes in, she had run out of the hall with her hands shaking. (She’d kept on hearing Vega’s laugh in the crowd.)
So it was strange, being back. She used to turn down invitations to the afterparties of the Hunger Games citing Juli’s age, but the excuse grew flimsier every year until she was unable to keep it up any longer. She was grateful for one little thing, at least; Juli had conceded to staying home. Perri hadn’t wanted him to have anything to do with the Games if she could help it.
And here she was. Reaching for a flute of champagne next to a barely recognisable and extravagantly dressed stranger suddenly felt a bit nostalgic. “How are you finding the food?” Perri asked, turning to the person next to her. “I see they’ve outdone themselves once more.”
FIVE: Do you have thoughts on the Districts which are rumored to be uprising? + NINE: What does happiness look like to you?
FIVE: Do you have thoughts on the Districts which are rumored to be uprising?
A question that requires deliberate phrasing. “I haven’t heard much about it,” she starts delicately. It’s mostly true; Perri deliberately makes it so that news like that doesn’t reach her ears. They lean too close to treason and the last thing she’d want to do is to be accused of such. “Unfortunately I have my hands full caring for a child and dealing with other affairs, so I’m not up to date with the latest gossip.”
NINE: What does happiness look like to you?
Perri doesn’t think she’s ever believed in happiness. Life has not been kind to Perri, and she doesn’t think it’ll get any easier.
“Assuming that happiness is real...” she pauses to think. “To feel safe. To love and to be loved, I think.” The closest she’d gotten to happiness was her time with Leto and Vega, but that was in the past now.
A blink, a tilted head. “I don’t have many of those, I don’t think.” There’s a bitter tinge to her smile. “I’m not very interesting.”
( The memory that comes to mind is Juli, still so small and fragile, tiny fingers curled around Perri’s own. Vega is resting her chin on Perri’s shoulder, arm wrapped around her waist, and Leto is preoccupied with trying and failing to get Juli to hold his finger instead, and Vega chuckles.
In that moment, she can only feel unspeakable and overwhelming affection. )
Life is a detestable thing. That’s what you always said, anyways. Cold, calloused, you weren’t a career, but that year, you had no issue wiping them out. That’s just how it was to survive, isn’t it? It’s not like you had much to go back to, but you always thought there was more to life. You didn’t want the Games to throw a wrench in that.
And for years, you were disappointed. Now you have all this trauma, and life was still torture. It wasn’t until you were older, and you were gifted life of another, that you finally understood. Being a parent gave you a certain joy you can’t replace, and something that has made you understand the world. They’re thirteen now, and while they’re a complete handful, you’d do anything to keep them alive. The fear of losing them from the tortures of the world, completely rampant.
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒
ROUX SELKIRK: You think Roux is a bit of a twerp. But a twerp you adore. You know that since winning, they’ve been forced into terrible things, so you keep them around. Besides, they’ve always been good with your kid, so you figure, why not? Keeps them out of trouble. But sometimes, it feels a bit more like you now have two children rather than one.
RIGGS PEACEROOT: No one can make you laugh quite like Riggs can. Certainly, people haven’t been exactly fond of you having a child. Sure, it was cute when you had a baby swaddled in your arms, but babies don’t stay tiny and cute forever. Since they grew out of that, it’s wildly out of style. Riggs, however, didn’t really care. They stood by and kept you company, and helped with the little one. They’re one of, if not your closest friend. You trust them with your life. Even if they are a goof.
KAI BURIE: Kai Burie wants nothing to do with your child. However, the two of you get along quite well. You might choose to be offended that they’re so adamant about not spending time with your kid, but it’s refreshing to have a relationship that’s apart from that part of your life. Yes, they’re a lot. Too much at times. But they still make you feel like a living, breathing adult.
PERRI HONIMOORE IS CURRENTLY TAKEN BY JUNIPER
and she was loved. @hcrnimoore - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
