ᴡʜᴏ: PRUDENCE WARREN & NAZANIN NABAVI ( @reblrths )
ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: THE CAPITOL – CITY CENTRE
ᴡʜᴇɴ: SIXTH DAY OF THE GAMES, IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE FIRES
DISTRICT THIRTEEN was many things, but forthcoming was not one of them. The task Prue had been assigned was simple enough – safe enough. Or, at least, this is what Prue had assumed. She'd been instructed to head to the city centre, to keep an eye out for peacekeepers, for Capitol reinforcements. Just simple intelligence gathering – apparently, there was going to be some sort of resistance activity happening later in the day. What, exactly, Prue didn't know – she didn't have the clearance for that kind of information. There had been the consideration to simply go by herself – but when Nazanin had offered to tag along, Prue had been quick to agree. Then again, she was quick to agree to most things that Naz suggested. Especially if it meant spending time alone together.
All had been going well – they'd been scouting the streets for peacekeepers, bantering, and Naz's shoulder had even brushed against Prue's own in a way that made her heart flutter. She'd noticed the hours quickly ticking away – the time that she'd been instructed to return and report back long since having passed. Ordinarily, Prue was a stickler for a deadline, but she had become quickly engrossed in some story that Nazanin was telling, which led to another, and another – and by the time she'd found the presence of mind to tear her eyes away from Naz's lips and to her watch, dawn had slipped into early morning. She'd muttered something about needing to get back – but, before they had the chance, the Capitol started to burn.
She won't ever remember much of what had happened next – she will remember grabbing Naz's hand and starting to run as the building beside them was suddenly engulfed in flames. She will remember the screams of frightened Capitolites as building after building caught fire, as the foundations began to collapse and smoke clouded the streets. She will remember choking on the smoke and dodging debris as more and more of the city centre became an uninhabitable inferno and flames licked at her exposed skin. She will remember seeing blue sky in the distance – and almost, almost making it to safety, before the building in front of their path to escape came crumbling down.
And then, she won't remember much of anything at all.
Consciousness returns slowly. The first thing that Prue becomes aware of is a painful pounding in her head. The second is a raw feeling in her throat, cotton in her lungs. The third is that she is in the dark – surrounded by debris on all sides and trapped by large slabs of concrete. The fourth is a dull throbbing over her arms and legs. She squints against the darkness to see that her skin is red and raw, and her left arm has started to blister painfully from where it was exposed to the flames. The fifth ( and, by far the most important ) is that she is not immediately sure where Nazanin is. They'd been together, hadn't they? Naz had only been here because Prue had dragged them along – and now she couldn't see them.
"Naz –" Prue starts, cutting off as she coughs violently. Her voice is hoarse, but she swallows thickly a few times before trying again. "Naz?" She calls out, louder this time, as tears sting against her eyes. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay. "Can you hear me?" It's impossible to miss the way that her voice cracks on the last syllable.
ᴡʜᴏ: CYBELE KASTEL & OPEN
ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: TRIBUTE TOWER, LOBBY
ᴡʜᴇɴ: SIXTH DAY OF THE GAMES – POST-FIRES, PRE-BOMBING
Cybele didn't have much time for the so-called rebels. In fact, they considered them, for the most part, to be akin to temperamental toddlers – ungrateful little brats that stomped their feet and cried whenever they didn't get their way. There was a reason they'd never had children, after all – and they didn't want to be reminded of those reasons by a group of grown adults. The victors that played along had even less of Cybele's respect – they'd been given everything they had, all their riches and rewards, by the very institution they were now threatening to dismantle. Cybele, for one, had no intention of giving up the luxuries afforded to them by winning the games, just to appease a bunch of greedy children in the outer districts.
So, when they watch the live coverage of the rebels ( quite literally ) setting fire to the city centre, they cannot help but roll their eyes. One, it seemed like a temper tantrum that had gone a step too far. And, two, it was entirely uninspired. Burn down the Capitol by literally burning down the Capitol? Cybele could've done better than that. Bloodier than that. Less painfully on-the-nose than that. Of course, they had to remember that not everybody had the same penchant for destruction that they did – not everybody was as boundlessly creative. Some people were just... well, really boring. And pathetic. These rebels just happened to be both, which made it all the easier to despise them.
"Fucking idiots." They mutter to nobody in particular, blowing out a cloud of smoke from between their teeth. They watch the screen with a face void of any emotion – as helicopters whir overhead to put out fires, people scream and cry and look desperately for their loved ones. When they realise they've caught someone's attention, they elaborate. "They want to prove they're smarter than the Capitol, but they keep running in half-cocked. If you're going to stage an ill-advised coup, at least plan it."
