#vb126

[finis-ccronat-opus]

After only an hour or two, Nvidia found herself tucked away in the back corner. She was done with socializing, done with the continuous questions about her arena or her experience, how she was doing since. She honestly didn’t know what to say. That she felt fine? Fine, except the tightness in her calf that still caused a small limp. If Lysander’s disappointment at not scarring her for life was anything to go off of, she was worried about how other’s would act. Other’s who weren’t fine. But was she really fine? She didn’t think she should be fine. Shouldn’t she feel more? It’d been the question she had struggled with for the past three months. She should feel more remorseful, should feel some sort of grief for the lives lost so she could be here. 

But she couldn’t. And she judged herself, looking from the outside in, she judged herself on the basis that she should feel something. That was natural. Her apathy was not. If she looked from the outside in, watching herself with a stranger’s gaze, she could judge herself, yes. But she could also pretend that she was not herself. That she was someone else. Someone that reacted to trauma normally. Someone that lacked the apathy that lurked in her mind. 

And that’s where she was, in a corner, judging herself, frown painted across her face, when someone approached and spoke to her. She was forced to come back to herself then, forced to reinhabit her own apathetic self. She smiled, though it did not look genuine. 

“I’m sorry, it’s awfully loud in here, what did you say?”

[georgia-plains]

“Pretty impressive show they’ve put on for everyone,” Asher said, speaking to whoever was nearby. “I think I could’ve done without the assassination, but other than that, I’m impressed with Thirteen.” He wasn’t surprised that Prim had been killed, nor that it had been in such a public manner. This was fucking Panem, what did people expect? Change? There was no such thing. The only change was escape. But still, he did feel for the rebels, all of whom seemed to be sporting injuries tonight, and most of whom had a haunted look in their eyes after what had happened that morning.

[coletteneptune]

Colette stood in the garden, beneath the artificial starlight, touching her fingers to a familiar flower, one that normally grew in Eleven, the one she’d given to Apple, the one Luca had painted for her. She turned when she heard footsteps on the path. “This is quite something,” she said, gesturing around them.

[maverickmontana]

Alder was gone. Then he was back. Then he was gone. And Primrose was dead. Fucking Prim. Fucking rebels. Fucking everything. They’d burned his house. They’d burned his mother. She was gone. And yet now that Prim was gone, the rebellion was gone, or it felt like it was, and everything was confusing. Everything was fucked. And Mav was trying to keep track of Alder and stick close, but sometimes people wanted to talk to one or the other of them, and they got separated, and now he’d had quite a few drinks, and he was leaning on his cane, and he hated the fucking cane, and then Alder was there and he was sort of falling against him and saying, “Do you think I’m allowed to drink on these painkillers?”

@alder-reid​

[slateskylar]

Slate approached the man standing by the window, unsure who exactly he was but a little bit tipsy himself and feeling like fucking with someone. “Hey, uh, X-Y-Z,” he said, leaning up against the wall. He wasn’t even sure if the dude had a zipper, but he didn’t care.

@district-four-mentor​

[hestiaember]

She stood next to someone she was pretty sure she recognized. She spent the first few minutes wracking her brain for where they might know each other, but drew a blank. Perhaps he was just a Capitolite that attended these things, but she’d developed a good sense of who those attendees were over so many years of these, and that didn’t feel like the answer either. Twelve was out of the question, she was almost certain she’d recognize him if that were the case, or at least catch some sort of family resemblance to someone she did know. Finally, she worked up the courage to catch his eyes, give a small, shy wave. “Sorry-- do we know each other?”

@fortyloves​

[everettlance]

Everett was sitting at one of the tables, his left leg in its cast up on another chair, a drink in his hand, though he wasn’t drinking it, was just watching the ice cubes rattle against one another as he moved the glass. It was a good night, fine, and he didn’t really care that much that Prim had been killed in front of everyone — or, he had cared, for a bit, and now he didn’t, thanks to the little pill he’d taken shortly after.

It wasn’t like he had been hoping for the rebellion to succeed or anything. It was just that maybe, if the Games stopped, that’d have been nice. But now there was no way that was going to happen.

Upon spotting Alder, though, he remembered how fucking pissed at him he was — for setting the fire that destroyed his damn house, killed Mav’s mom, crushed his fucking leg, and left burns all over his body. He stood, grabbing his crutches. “Hey, what the fuck,” he called to get his attention.

@alder-reid​

[cadebentley-archived]

“Oh hey there, jet setter.” Cade grinned and sidled up to Clementine, a half-finished drink in hand. As odd as her company was for his usual tastes, he’d found that despite his mental state when she’d visited, she hadn’t been half bad to be around. Even if she was almost painfully innocent. “Did you ever make it home, or did you happen to get stranded here in Thirteen too?”

@lastpetals​