𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐰𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝.

                               𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐲.                                                                                                                              𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒕 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒓.                                                                    𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘺-𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴.

[linconway-archive2]

immcrina​:

        ‪❛‬  YEAH ,  SO WHAT ?  ❜  her response to his question comes out more arrogant than she’d intended for it to .  leaving the districts was a privilege in itself ,  one that even marina reyes had come to appreciate .  although she’s not one to be muzzled ,  lincoln’s next remark has her speechless .  it was true ,  he had the upper hand when it came to the intricacies that surrounded the capitol .  no matter how highly she thought of herself ,  she’d always be district filth to the capitol residents .  and though she’d never admit to it ,  marina could have sworn that she absent-mindedly muttered an apology under her breath . 

       ‪❛‬  the wrong reasons ?  ❜  marina furrowed her brows .  that was a rather bold statement for the other to make .  a couple of hours in the train together and what ?  suddenly ,  lincoln conway knew everything there was to know about her ?  preposterous .  he knew nothing of her motivations for volunteering .   ‪❛‬  lincoln .  ❜  her voice is soft but methodical now .   ‪❛‬  we have trained our whole lives with the sole purpose of learning how to murder other human beings .  ❜  marina continued .  ‪❛‬  i don’t  have the luxury of moping around like a wounded puppy after every kill that i make in that arena ,  whether it be kids that are younger or of the same age .  ❜  the brunette responds in a visibly frustrated manner ,  setting down the piece of fruit that she’d been nibbling off of .  

‪❛‬  crowns ?  money ?  fame ?  none of that matters to me .  i’d kill a KID without a second thought if it brings me one step closer to striking back at the bastards that threw minnow fry into that arena .  ❜  marina scoffed .  exactly how materialistic did lincoln think she was ?  wealth wasn’t something that she lacked back in the districts .  sure ,  it wasn’t the capitol’s definition of wealth ,  but it was wealth to her all the same . 

‪❛‬  they need to pay for what they did to her .  ❜

“Having to ask shows YOU have a lot to learn.” Lincoln replied. He paused and allowed a deep exhale to escape his lips. The young mentor believed no one understood the other districts unless they visited them in the flesh. Tributes learned about their competitors and their homes while in the Capitol, but those descriptions paled in comparison to a firsthand account. Unfortunately, only the select few who managed to emerge victoriously had the opportunity. Perhaps Lincoln could get Marina there with some sort of truce between them.

“Why, are you planning to prove me wrong?” The male victor inquired, furrowing his own brow. He digested her words about their training before nodding. “We did, didn’t we? Both of us got pretty good at being killing machines too.” Lincoln chuckled with a cynical tone. His training at Four’s Academy had been intense, primarily because his instructors pushed him toward greatness. “I’m saying there’s more to killing someone than the physical blow. There’s emotion involved too, especially afterwards, even if you don’t believe me. The Academy never taught that.” Lincoln disclosed weakly, tossing his crumbled notes on the mahogany table between them. His first kill, the boy from Two, was just one engrained in his mind.  

His eyes flickered toward hers with her wholehearted revelation. “So, this is a revenge mission then?” Lincoln asked slowly, relatively relieved Marina’s reasoning differed from the convention. “You want to hurt the people who hurt her, huh? I guess that means you’re playing the long game. I’d be pretty impressed if you manage to get at them before going into the arena.” He replied, wondering just how she planned to avenge Minnow Fry. The tributes frequently seemed kept under severe supervision. Some tributes wandered off for hours, yes, but the Gamemakers ensured they always returned to the palm of their hands.  

“You know, Minnow and I had a talk like this too.” He murmured. “This is a dumb question, but did she ever tell you why she volunteered for the Quell?”  

[linconway-archive2]

immcrina​: 

         ‪❛‬  PFT !  ❜  a small chuckle escapes from marina ,  and the brunette finds herself leaning into her seat more . ‪❛‬  are you sure ? ❜  she pushed further .   ‪❛‬  because you definitely look like you’re about to cry now .  ❜  marina continued ,  lips curling with cruel satisfaction as she brought her point home .  when the other’s grip visibly tightens around his pamphlet of notes ,  marina knows that she’s reached a point where she needs to relent .  

        ‪❛‬  then she’s just an unfortunate casualty of the arena then .  ❜  she responds in kind to the other’s statement .    ‪❛‬  it happens .  regardless of our reasons ,  we’re all tossed into that arena for a singular purpose .  if it wasn’t her ,  it would have been you .  be glad you had the strength to do it first . ❜  her tone is nonchalant and objective  ––––  so much so that it might even have seemed cold to those that didn’t know her .  but then lincoln pops the golden question ,  and marina simply can’t wait to answer . 

       ‪❛‬  no ,  but i doubt i’d react the same way you did .  ❜  she mused .  ‪❛‬  i’ll be damned if i let any one of those charlatans get in between me and the victor’s title . ❜ 

“I’m positive.” His gaze hardened with his affirmation. The viperous grip on his notes only increased, as Lincoln spoke on the topic more. “This is your first-time leaving District Four, isn’t it? There’s a big difference between seeing the other districts and the Capitol on television and actually being there in person.” Anger caused his stomach to bubble more than it had in months, perhaps even years. “Is that what you want? You want to see me cry when I could be giving you the advice you obviously need? I’m not going to cry in front of you.” Lincoln bit back, ignoring the baseball-sized lump in his throat. His clouding eyes hardly helped either.

The pamphlet of notes continued to shrink in his large hand, as his vise-like grasp threatened to tear the papers into shreds. “No, Kayla was important. She might not be here anymore, but she’ll be important until I die. I made sure of that.” Interviewers frequently inquired about the moments with his young ally during the 72nd Games. They questioned the emotions he must have felt, as he desperately plunged his spear into her chest. “That’s where you’re wrong. You and I weren’t tossed in there. We both chose this. I volunteered for the wrong reasons, and I’m betting you did too. Kayla didn’t choose this. She didn’t want to be thrown into an arena with tributes twice her size. It took strength to kill her, but it wasn’t the twisted type of strength you’re thinking about.” 

While his grip never relented, Marina’s answer caused his brow to furrow. “Charlatan? Is that what you think they are?” A disbelieving chuckle escaped his lips before he could stop it. “They’re kids. I mean, shit, Marina, you act like you were never twelve. I doubt things were perfect growing up, but that beats knowing you’re probably going to die on television. You’d really kill a kid without a second thought for what? A crown? Money? Fame?” He responded, also knowing he volunteered for the same reasons.  

[linconway-archive2]

immcrina​:

          ‪❛‬  yeah ,  and district four became so much BETTER off because of your victory ,  didn’t it ? ❜  –––––––  marina responded ,  eyebrows arching in an inquisitive manner .  ‪❛‬  i’d very much prefer a mentor that won’t cry every time he thinks about killing someone ?   ❜   she continued relentlessly .  perhaps she’d gone too far .  after all , he was her mentor and she’d have to rely on him to garner sponsorships .  it’d be a mistake to sacrifice a  PAWN  this early into the match . 

         ‪❛‬  still ,  i suppose ,  you were somewhat of a killing machine before you ended that poor girl ––––  ❜  the brunette paused for a second ,  allowing the effect of her words to sink in without finishing her sentence .  ‪❛‬  what was her name again ?  right , KAYLA .  a pity , really . ❜  she continued .  ‪

        ‪❛‬  anyways ,  i need you to dig up what’s  LEFT of old lincoln ,  and have him teach me .  okay ?  ❜ 

“Four has done well enough. We’re better off than other districts.” Lincoln replied, eyes flashing dangerously for seconds before the indignation dissipated. “It sounds like you spend a LOT of time watching me . And I don’t cry every time I think about killing someone.” He defensively, despite knowing Marina had a point. It seemed no secret that District Four’s youngest mentor practically quivered at the notion of senseless killing. He murdered four tributes in the arena, and each death impacted him more than the last. Ultimately, he swore to never take another life in that soulless manner again.

Lincoln’s nose flared, and his grip tightened around his pamphlet of notes. His lips parted to protect Kayla’s memory, but the young man was overwhelmed by emotion. A combination of despondency and anger crept onto his face until he realized his breath became shallow. How could she? “Her name was Kayla Reed. She was only twelve years old going into that arena, and I was forced to kill her.” His tone became clipped, and he attempted to clear his throat. “She was just a kid and the same age as my sister. Have you ever killed a kid?”  

[linconway-archive2]

maggie-hilt​:

Maggie glared at the man as he rounded the corner. “I’m not a kid.” She snapped. Though of course she was twelve and she looked even younger. She fidgeted with her dress, sighing heavily as she turned her attention to one of the horses, reaching up to pet it. 

She turned her gaze back to the man as he spoke again and folded her arms over her chest. “I don’t care what they like. It’s not like any of them really think I’m going to win, right?” Though she wanted too, god how she wanted too. Who would take care of Theo if she didn’t?

“Of course not. That’s my mistake.” He offered with a chuckle. Lincoln pondered why he frequently insisted on torturing himself. It seemed uncomplicated to turn a blind eye in the presence of younger tributes, but he never could. Perhaps his incessant need to ease their discomfort came from the memory of his little, stargazing ally from his own time as a tribute. Perhaps they simply reminded him of his own sisters. Whatever the reason, Lincoln Conway always gravitated toward the smallest tributes like a tether pulled him in their direction. “What do you want to be then? Being a grownup isn’t as great as it sounds, trust me.” 

His brow arched at her sentiments about the sponsors. “I’m not going to lie to you. They won’t think it off the bat, but that doesn’t mean you can’t change their minds. Do you think you have it in you to win?” He challenged with a soft tone, curious as what she thought about her potential in the arena. “Do you think you can surprise them?” 

[linconway-archive2]

maggie-hilt​:

“Stupid.” She muttered, itching at her freshly waxed leg with the toe of one shoe and fidgeting with the dark and dusky material of the dress she’d been forced into. All she wanted to do was go back home, to Theo, to hold him and cuddle him. Who would do that while she was gone, when she was gone? He was only two, he couldn’t take care of himself and Maggie knew from experience that her parents wouldn’t take care of him. 

“When can I take this stupid thing off?” She huffed, hearing someone approach and turning to face them assuming it was the horrid woman who’d put it on her in the first place.  

“Soon enough, kid.” He replied, rounding the corner and looking down at the small tribute. Perhaps Lincoln could have advised her not to worry, but that ruse deemed futile. Any tribute in the Hunger Games possessed plenty motive to brood over their predicament. Hell, even he, a charming District Four Academy protégée, had days where his bubbling stomach threatened to implode during early days as a tribute. Fortunately, the young victor masked this apprehension well, but he also knew how insufferable the stylists’ outfits could be.

“I try to think of it this way: the outfits suck, but the people here love that sort of thing. That might help you with sponsors.” Lincoln offered with a soft smile and nonchalant shrug, knowing plenty of sponsors who rooted for the young underdogs.

[linconway-archive2]

immcrina​:

** { ** &.** LINCOLN CONWAY: STARTER FOR ( @linconway​ ) ! ** }

          ‪❛‬  so ,  you’re LINCOLN ?  my mentor ? ❜  –––––––  marina scoffed ,  kicking her feet on top of the mahogany table that decorated her district’s cabin .  as far as she knew ,  the train was hurtling straight towards the capitol ;  where nothing but a shameful death or glorious redemption awaited her .  

         ‪❛‬  it’s almost like they want me to  LOSE . ❜ 

His dark eyes tore away from his notes on the Reapings, as Marina’s feet connect with the mahogany veneer of the table. His brow arched, and his gaze flickered from her feet to her face. “Shit, I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment to you.” Lincoln chuckled with a nonchalant tone, attempting to remain civil for the sake of this new alliance. He believed some degree of trust between them would be essential to her survival in the Games. “You know, I did win these Games four years ago. You’re going to need me more than you realize.” He offered, not quite believing the words leaving his mouth. District Four had numerous victors with more experience, so why should Marina seek guidance from him of them all? “The Academy got you this far, but there are plenty more things you’ll need going into that arena.” 

[linconway-archive2]

wavesofcresta​:

he held her, and she held him, and she focused on his breathing. eventually, she stopped crying and started hiccuping. it was better, and she tried to calm. she tried her hardest, letting it all out and letting herself calm down. she tried so hard to be perfect. and she always fell short. but she could let it all out and just be Annie with him. Lincoln, for some freaking reason, actually liked Annie for Annie. which Annie, for one, didn’t understand. but she liked it a lot.

she laughed, a little bit, although it was still wet with tears that coated her throat. “victors are family.” she nodded into his shoulder, sighing after a moment. “mine… is water. an ocean. with,.. birds, and finns…” meaning dophins, of course. not finnick. although he was represented in that too. “thanks.” 

“no… i’m broken. i’m really broken. you… you get good days. and bad days. but your good days… you’re okay. i’m still broken. you… you never… you don’t know. fixed annie.” fixed annie was better than broken annie. even on good days, she was  talking about weird things, holding tight to reality so she didn’t float away. Lincoln would like Annie better like that. everybody would.

A watery smiled crossed his features when Annie’s throaty laughter met his ear. While Lincoln never boasted about being an expert in consolation, it brought him solace that the redheaded victor felt somewhat better. “Yeah, we all are family, and I don’t want you to forget that either. You’d never let me forget, right?” Lincoln seemed reminded of this on numerous occasions where he needed to do some soul searching. “See? Those are all some pretty badass things, just like you.” The young victor offered with a light chuckle.

He listened to Annie’s explanation with a solemn expression. “I don’t think you have to be completely okay for a day to be good. I don’t know, sometimes it’s just the way the sunlight hits the water or feeling the warmth of the beach between my toes. That’s a good enough day for me.” Lincoln shrugged softly. “Being Fixed Annie isn’t like turning a magic dial or something, and everything’s fine. Good little things make for good days.”

[linconway-archive2]

juliusanero​:

Julius chewed on his lip a moment. “Oh, I quite agree.” He said in a matter-of-fact tone as he pondered the District Four Victor’s words. “However…” Julius started with a small sigh of ponderance. “Simply wanting to survive the storm does not ensure survival, does it? Oh, sure skill plays a small part…” He pondered. “Yet, Fate has other plans for a lot of people. Don’t you think? The unlucky.” The Hunger Games were a perfect example of that. Every tribute went in wanting to live and only one came out. Sometimes it was the well-skilled Career Tributes and other times it wasn’t. It wasn’t unlike life, a bit unpredictable.

“There are a lot of good people in a lot of places,” Julius pointed out. Especially the Capitol, it was crawling with good people with even better intentions. “I suppose every place needs a smattering of good people to keep the light shining in the lighthouse.” It was just the way of the world and what had Snow said before, a little bit of hope was a good thing.

“Oh Lincoln, you have a lot to learn.” Julius pointed out with a small laugh. “You do not have to go to great lengths if you are good at it. People just,” he paused for effect. “Fall into line, I suppose you can say.” It was almost like a game to Julius he was so good at what he did. “Tell me, how is your family? Are your sisters ready for this reaping? It won’t be as much of a hauntingly good time as last year, but it will be quite swell. If I do say so myself.”

The lump lodged in his throat only increased in size, as the conversation continued. “No, you’re right. Fate does play a factor in survival too.” He disliked validating the Gamemaker’s answer, though there was plenty of truth to it. Hadn’t part of Lincoln’s survival in the 72nd Games been destiny? No one could have predicted the tumultuous events that led his renown. “Fate does. I guess that’s why we’re always hoping the odds will be ever our favor.” He replied, also knowing that other various contributed to that supposed fate. While the Games were unpredictable, certain factors increased the survival rate.

“I’m beginning to see that more and more.” Lincoln divulged, almost as if he planned to share a secret. His brief time as a tribute and victor dramatically shifted his perspective on the other districts. No longer did he only hold respect for his own district, One, Four, and perhaps a few others. The 72nd Hunger Games and the Victory Tour that followed caused him to develop respect and empathy for all the district folks just trying to survive.

“Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to tell me that.” Shivers ran through him as laughter erupted from the Gamemaker. The chilling sound almost caused Lincoln to terminate the telephone conversation; however, the young man also knew how detrimental that discourtesy could be. “They — They — They’re ready for the Reaping. Mira isn’t eligible for the Games this year, but Loire and Talise prepare how they can. They’re not as prepared as I was, but they know how to handle a blade well enough. ” Seeing any of his sisters in the Hunger Games would be enough to send him to an early grave. 

[linconway-archive2]

wavesofcresta​:

he wrapped her in a hug, and she moved her hands to cover up the spots he couldn’t touch on her back. that way when he wrapped her in a hug, there would be a layer formed by annie’s palms between him and them. she was shaking like a leaf, but she leaned into him quietly. he was a strong victor from the academy, he could hold a little of her weight for a moment. and suddenly she wasn’t so alone and fearful. it was lincoln, her little brother, right there. it was him wrapped all around her. there was no snow. no capitol. just him. and if they tried to get her, they couldn’t through his arms.

Annie knew they didn’t believe her. she knew that as they were hugging, in that room, the other four victors were tolerating Snow putting her down for her issues. she knew it was a way to explain things away to the cameras. ‘poor old crazy cresta. we’re sorry for a burden on such a fine district’. honestly… she belived it, too. she was a burden, broken and useless. this was Lincoln’s first time at one of these. she should be protecting him, not him her.

“I did… i messed up. I tried so… so hard. and I couldn’t do it because… i don’t work right.” she sniffed, rearranging his arms on her so she could hug him back. “thank you. sorry. thank you.” she looked down for a long moment. “I’m not… ever going to… get better, am i?”

Lincoln felt her shaking against his side, but he pretended not to notice. His heart ached over how dispirited the other was. After winning the 72nd Games, he emerged as a changed man whom outwardly expressed his empathy for others. The occurrences of the arena still haunted him, but he understood no one seemed to bear the weight of the Hunger Games more than Annie Cresta. The aftermath of his four days in the haunted mansion seemed like child’s play in comparison to what the 70th Games did to Annie. Therefore, Lincoln Conway would not help but feel an overwhelming desire to help her feel better.

“You’re not alone. Trust me when I say we all have our moments. We’re in this together.” He chuckled softly. The degree of discomfort varied, but it still existed, nonetheless. “I can’t imagine exactly what yours is like, but I can take a guess based on mine. It sucks, all of it really sucks, but we try the best we can to get through it. You’ll get through it too.” Lincoln continued, gently patting her back as he spoke.  

He paused for a moment to consider her final question. Frankly, Lincoln wondered the same about his own state. His nightmares only intensified as the Games grew closer. It took plenty of strength to put aside his own pain to help mentor their tributes. “You work just fine, like Annie is supposed to. You have the good days and bad days like anyone else. Good days are when you’re telling me about the birds and skies or knitting a sweater. Today’s a bad day, but I know another good day will come around soon. It has to.”  

[linconway-archive2]

wavesofcresta​:

sitting so close to the president was a lot. Annie was sitting just at his right hand, and he even poured her juice for her. he was ‘taking care of the mentally ill’ of course. her hair cascaded in nice ringlets that felt wrong, her dress was too stiff and starchy and she hadn’t been allowed to keep her hands still. she’d resorted to miming the motions of knitting under the table, repeating one thing in her mind. don’t cry. don’t cry. don’t cry. if she cried, it would reflect badly on district four. if she cried, she’d ruin the presidential lunch. but there was stress everywhere in annie, and eventually it bubbled over.

she hadn’t started crying when the president’s arm brushed her. and yet she still tumbled over the edge. she’d started giggling, laughing, snorting. it couldn’t stop, and the tears running down her face because of it didn’t either. her hands went over her ears as she tried to block out the noise of her own laugher, and of course her fidgeting fingers grasped onto her hair. that hurt, but she couldn’t cry. so she laughed harder and harder. there had been no self imposed mantra on laughing. Eventually, she’d been led away by Lincoln, who must’ve just been the first one up.

the minute they were out of the venue, she burst into tears from the whole thing. crying, now, not laughing, but still heavily leaning on her tall little brother. the worst part about the whole thing was it was live. all of panem had seen another famous cresta breakdown. “I’m sorry.” she sputtered, once her tears had slowed enough to get it out. “I’m sorry… lin…con.” she was still gasping for air and choking on tears. but she needed to apologize. “I…ruined… everything?”

@linconway​

It was only three days into the new year, and Lincoln already felt uncomfortable. The sumptuous lunch to celebrate the president seemed like an unnatural experience. After convincing his mother and sisters to remain in the Village, the young man reached the hall in his Sunday best. He attempted to remain poised listening to the remarks of President Snow and his entourage. His laughter appeared strained, and his smile never reached his ears, but Lincoln conveyed his part as a faithful victor well. This exhibition was desperately necessary to ensure the safety of his beloved district and those he held close.

That same necessity caused Lincoln’s eyes to flicker to every victor seated at the table. He possessed the least experience of the group, but the dark-haired man was fiercely protective, nonetheless. Therefore, his brow rose in concern upon witnessing the discomfort on Annie’s face. The male victor continued his conversation with another guest, but his eyes lingered on the redheaded victor from his district. He watched for any signs of tittering close to the edge, which soon occurred when Annie’s hands flocked to her ears.

A few fumbled excuses later, and both Lincoln and Annie ventured from the venue. Tears streamed down the other’s face, and he instinctively wrapped an arm around her to provide some comfort. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” He attempted to console with a soft tone. “Shit, you don’t have to apologize. You didn’t ruin anything, Annie, I promise. We all do what we can. I think that excuse about food poisoning might’ve worked.” Truth be told, he had no idea whether the officials believed his deception. “You did nothing wrong.” 

[linconway-archive2]

juliusanero​:

Julius ran his tongue over his teeth a moment as he listened to the young Victor speak. “Do you believe all storms can be weathered?” He asked genuinely curious to Lincoln’s answer. Most storms could be weathered, such as the one that created the Rebellion, but were there storms in life that you couldn’t rise against? Twenty-three dead tributes a year sure seemed to prove his theory true.

He chuckled softly. “No, I assured you I do not.” Julius Nero had nothing but the finest blood running through his veins. Over a hundred years of Capitol blood and service were there to prove it. It was bad enough his family had loose ties to the Districts. He wasn’t a savage and he was proud of it.

He smiled even if Lincoln couldn’t see his reaction. “Oh, I prefer much more elaborate methods.” Why did he need to get his hands dirty? There were people to do that for him. “I mean words after all are our greatest weapons. You can talk anyone into anything if you try hard enough…” He told Lincoln letting the words linger a moment.

His brow furrowed with concentration and confusion at the question. Repartee never seemed like one of Lincoln Conway’s strengths. His expertise consisted solely of physical prowess, leaving him perplexed by the word battle Julius started. “I don’t know. When you’re faced with a storm at sea, you can either let the tide overtake you or glide along the stream to survive. It really depends on the strength of the sailor and the vessel.” He finally replied with a soft tone. “I’d think most want to survive any storm, don’t you?”

The tone surrounding District Four caused Lincoln to tighten his grasp on the phone. While the young victor could not match the Gamemaker’s silver tongue, he still possessed pride for his district. The academy may have conditioned him into a killer, but Lincoln never felt as calm as he did roaming the marketplace, paddling against the sea, and listening to the waves in Four. “That’s too bad. There’s a lot of good people here.”

His mind raced with the methods he already witnessed Julius use. The mutation mastermind formulated the zombies and holographic ghosts from the Seventy Second Games that plagued his slumber rather frequently. “That sounds pretty compelling to me.” After all, hadn’t the academy employed the same tactic to transform Lincoln into their champion? “Do people usually go to intense lengths to use that type of weaponry?” 

[linconway-archive2]

juliusanero​:

Julius paused a moment letting the silence hang uncomfortably between them, because why not? A good poker player never revealed their hand right away and everyone knew that. “Sorry Lincoln, I think this storm is going to be around for a while.” He said with a frown the District Four Victor couldn’t see. It had started with Katniss Everdeen and while the Victors and most of Panem, had given up their rebellious thoughts, they needed to be reminded of the cost of harboring such thoughts.

“How’s the fishing been?” He asked pleasantly as if they were just two old friends catching up. “Spear anything interesting lately? I hear it’s all in your grasp… That you should hold it in the center and make sure to have a good center of balance.” He told Lincoln.  “I have to admit I find them rather cumbersome if I am being honest…”

His mouth dried as the silence lingered between them. While Lincoln could have closed the pause, the young man dared not to speak first. It seemed evident that Julius Nero was exceedingly more eloquent and wilier than Lincoln Conway could ever dream of being. Of course, the young man hardly yearned to achieve either in life. “I’m sorry to hear that. I guess we’ll have to weather the storm like we always do.” He still felt to the exact significance the words. They would not click for him until later that evening.

“Uh, the catch has been pretty good as of late. It’s getting warmer every day, so the haul will keep improving.” His brow furrowed in confusion, pondering why the Gamemaker would make such a remark. Unfortunately, Lincoln received his answer moments later with the older man’s choice words. “Yeah, that’s pretty good. Are you sure you don’t have some District Four blood in you?” He inquired as a futile diversion from the true nature of the conversation. Yes, Lincoln Conway educated Arista on weaponry during the Quarter Quell. Shouldn’t any young woman know how to defend themselves in cases of trouble?

“What would be your preferred method, if not a spear?” Lincoln questioned, almost slapping himself for having the audacity to ask something so ominous.

[linconway-archive2]

juliusanero‌:

Julius made a face as he stared at the phone resting on the table beside him as he reached for his whiskey instead. Making phone calls, that was what he had an assistant for, but this was a special circumstance and needed his own direct care. Victors owed their lives and livelihoods to the Capitol and just because they were home, they needed to be reminded of this.

“Hello Lincoln,” Julius said in a smooth voice with a sly smile once his call was received. “How is the weather in Four? Looks like a storm rolling in, wouldn’t you say?”

@linconway​​

The telephone resounded in the Conway residence, and no one seemed eager to answer it. These devices were luxuries most in Panem could not afford, even the affluent citizens within Districts One, Two, or Four. That meant a representative of the Capitol or another Games victor would be the potential caller. Therefore, Cordelia Conway and her daughters knew to leave the telephone for Lincoln to answer. It seemed no secret that whomever waited on the other end of the line would be calling on the Games victor.

Lincoln Conway leaned against the wall nearest the corded device, picking it up quickly with a pleasant tone. “Hello?” The echo of his voice carried in the Conway’s foyer, as the young victor waited for the caller to identify themself. Unfortunately, the voice of the individual on the other side alone caused Lincoln’s skin to crawl. He would not easily forget Julius Nero’s comments about his sisters being potential legacies in future Games.

“Hello, Mr. Nero.” He replied. “Uh, I’d say that is definitely a possibility. Hopefully it passes quickly.” Lincoln continued, hoping Julius could not hear his gulp on the other line.

[rpxmusings]

           YOU COLLECT SCARS BECAUSE YOU WANT PROOF THAT YOU                ARE PAYING FOR WHATEVER SINS YOU HAVE COMMITTED   

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ivory-vale‌:

|| open starter ||

Ivory masked her disbelief as she watched Buckingham perish. That was unexpected. Ivory int he previous day had turned herself onto the idea of yet another District 1 Victor crowding the already busy district 1 floor. That was not the case now. It was the first finale in a while to catch her off guard. She literally didn’t see Reed winning as a possibility. That’s what she got for daring to count out a kid from an outer District. In her opinion 2nd place was about the worst position to be in. First loser. No doubt that term would be used in many interviews to come for any District 1 victor. She could already hear it. “How does 2nd place feel? First loser for the usual number 1 District.” Ivory scoffed in her own internal monologue.

Ivory stared at the screen as the final moments of the game concluded. The victor was being lifted out of the arena. She absent-mindedly took a glass of champagne that was being distributed in the crowded viewing room. She tipped the contents back in one quick drink and left the room. Not before grabbing another glass and heading down the hallway. Going back to District 1′s floor would bring a bigger headache. Too many people bickering over who’s turn it was to deal with the bodies, the families, and the press. 

Where to go… Where to go… Ivory approached the elevator and quickly jammed the button that would take her to the roof.

The conclusion of the Quell had been unexpected. Lincoln gawked from the moment where the boy from Seven ended Minnow’s pain until the same boy defeated Buckingham de Clare for the crown. The young man studied the Hunger Games for numerous years at the Career academy, but even he could not see someone with a four in training winning. He supposed the odds had truly been in Reed’s favor, despite the fact that they seemed against him from the beginning. There was a stark difference between being reaped with a twin to being announced as the victor of the Third Quarter Quell.

Lincoln snuck away from the celebrations after the victor was announced. He slipped away from the viewing area with embellished farewells before allowing some of his true thoughts to settle in. The young mentor felt pleased for Reed Robles to survive the Hunger Games, but he could not ignore the loss of Minnow Fry. The redheaded tribute certainly could have gone the distance. Despite her twisted reasons for volunteering for the Quell, something in Lincoln told him she truly wanted to change her odds and live.

He escaped to the Tribute Tower’s roof to mourn the loss of Minnow in peace. Some solitude would allow him time to collect his thoughts before being thrown into the fray of the new victor’s crowning. Yet, Lincoln’s isolation was temporary because the elevator soon chimed behind him. The young mentor contemplated ignoring the roof’s other occupant, but he quickly abandoned that notion. Instead, he turned around and gave Ivory Vale a small smile in greeting. “Are you here to drown out your sorrows too? We both came pretty close.” 

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songsbornofgrain‌:

“I don’t think you have to worry about it Lincoln,” Arista assured him because she wasn’t sure he was the type to be egotistical about things. People just assumed that because he was from a Career District, but the Lincoln she knew was far from any of those things people would assume he was. “Yes, but the bow felt less intimidating,” Arista admitted. It was silly now, but it was how she had felt as a tribute standing in the training center that first day.

She nodded. “Deal.” She didn’t have to think twice about it because she wanted to learn as much as she wanted to share her knowledge with Lincoln. “There are a lot of useful herbs for headaches and simple ailments that could help you at home.” Arista was able to take some Capitol medicine back for her little make-shift clinic back home, but it wasn’t nearly enough and she couldn’t risk drawing the attention of the Capitol.

Arista picked up one of the smaller swords that she could handle without looking completely useless. “So just find a balance and then what…?”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew me before. I was kind of an ass.” Lincoln retorted with a chuckle. The young man possessed enough egotism to sustain his entire district. It stemmed from his success at the Career academy, and his instructors and classmates only fueled his hubris. Who was he to disagree when they all put him on a pedestal so early on? Yet, his time in the Seventy-Second Games washed away much of the self-importance that ate away at his humanity for years. “I guess you’re right about that. Arrows can be deadly, but I’m pretty sure a bow by itself does a lot less damage.”

His lips expanded into a grin the agreement to his proposition. “Great, that’s great.” The knowledge exchange seemed like an opportune moment for them both. Lincoln felt it was vital to understand how to defend oneself, and knowledge of herbs and medicines could help his tributes. If District Four’s future tributes were like him, their prowess with anything besides weaponry would be nonexistent. “Yeah, those would be useful. I usually just suck it up and deal with it, but there are times when it’s pretty bad.” His head always seemed to hurt most after another nightmare plagued his sleep.

“Next, you want to focus on your grip. Hold the spear firmly but don’t grip it so tightly that your knuckles start turning white. That will only tire you out faster and mess up your moves.” Lincoln continued, holding out the spear toward her to demonstrate a proper grasp. “Try it with your thumb and first two fingers while the other ones are loose.” 

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songsbornofgrain‌:

Arista gave him a smile. “Well, I am glad you count me as someone you can talk to.” To be honest, Arista wasn’t sure what she would do if Lincoln wasn’t there to talk to. She liked all the Victors, but it was nice to have someone her own age that understood what it was like and all the other unpleasantries that went with their situation.

While Lincoln worked out, Arista couldn’t help but pull the basket of dried leaves, leftover from the training period onto her lap, and started weaving them. “I am glad we have phones.” It was the one saving grace about being a Victor. She could still talk to her friends whenever she needed them. Besides, she had her horse and her work to keep her company. It made her think that she needed to start getting out a little more.

“Lying? I think you’re just being modest Lincoln,” Arista told him as she looked up from her work for a moment. “It was an accomplishment for me to even pull the bowstring back let alone shoot the arrow straight,” she said with a laugh recalling the disastrous moments of her training period. Part of her wondered if she should learn now? “Oh, well lucky for you I know someone that’s very skilled with both herbs and needles,” she told Lincoln with a laugh.

“So… teach me something,” Arista said after a moment jumping to her feet. “How do you even hold some of these weapons?” She was supposed to be there working out after all.

“Course I do. I can probably count the number of people I can really talk to on my hands. Maybe even one hand.” Lincoln shrugged with a smile. Three years of journeying to the Capitol taught him to be precautious with expressing his most frightened emotions. The Capitol citizens certainly would not understand the terrors that snuck into his dreams and transformed them into nightmares. Arista, on the other hand, he could count on.

“Me too. It’s strange how I never grew up having one, but I don’t know where I’d be without it now.” Lincoln noted, as he continued handling the spear in his grasp. Frankly, he leaned on all his victor friends for support. This extended to the ones in other districts like Arista whom he felt compelled to check on from time to time. A lot of good or bad things could happen in the period between Games’ years, after all.

“Okay, maybe a little bit. I’m still trying to figure out this whole modesty versus egomania thing.” He chuckled, watching her curiously as she weaved the dried leaves. His self-importance had been too magnanimous before the 72nd Games, but now excessive humility took its place at times. “Sometimes I think using a bow requires a lot more thought than using one of these. You don’t have to aim nearly as much.” He chuckled, gesturing to the spear in his hand. Lincoln was a decent shot, but he preferred closer combat.

“How about we make a deal? I’ll teach you something about weapons, and you can show me something about herbs or needles?” Lincoln proposed with a raised brow. “I can go first. Holding a weapon like a sword or spear is all about finding its center of gravity first. Once you find the point of balance, it becomes a lot easier to hold.” He shared, holding the spear horizontally in his hand and balancing it in his palm after finding the center.