#with. maxim

[victoriams]

ᴡʜᴏ: LIVINIA CRANE & MAXIM CRANE (@reblrths) ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: THE CAESAR FLICKERMAN SHOW, BACKSTAGE ᴡʜᴇɴ: TRIBUTE INTERVIEWS

Livinia would give her makeup artist credit where credit was due – the burn marks on her collarbone were indistinguishable from the unmarred skin around them. And, the woman had known better than to ask any questions, Livinia's piercing stare enough to keep her silent. Admittedly, Livinia hadn't been looking forward to the evening at all. Her gown had been selected weeks ago – and she had spent the last couple of days worrying that it would only serve to highlight her injuries. But, getting out of her family's biggest broadcasting night of the year was a non-negotiable, even after their matriarch had been unceremoniously murdered. This was the Crane way: the show must go on.

As one of the final few tributes ascended the stage, Livinia excuses herself for the bathroom. Despite being a relatively anonymous face in the crowd, she cannot help but feel as though eyes were on her – whether it was out of pity for the girl who had just lost her mother, or out of suspicion for the one who had been interrogated, she wasn't sure. Nor was she sure which was worse. Instead of the bathroom, she finds herself backstage. Although her father had never deigned to invite Livinia into his employ, she still knew the CTN studios like the back of her hand.

She manages to find a quiet corner to quiet her ( now unnaturally rapid ) breathing. Closing her eyes, she leans back against a wall and counts to ten, listening to her breathing – something her awful therapist had taught her to do. She's only reached five when she hears the sound of an argument nearby – something she would ordinarily ignore, were it not for the familiarity of one of the voices. "Fuck's sake." She mutters, pushing herself off the wall and rounding a corner to find MAXIM engaged in a scuffle with what appeared to be a stage hand – one that looks only seconds away from becoming physical.

"Hey!" She doesn't shout – not so close to the stage, but she clicks to gain attention. She turns to the stranger first, fixing them with a vicious scowl, jabbing one of her bony fingers at their chest. "You, fuck off – you should be doing your job." She gestures with her hands and pushes them away from her brother, "Shoo." She waits a few moments, until she is sure the stagehand is out of earshot, before turning to her brother. "What on earth do you think you're doing? Trying to get yourself another black eye? You're supposed to be laying low."

[victoriams]

ᴡʜᴏ: LIVINIA CRANE & MAXIM CRANE (@reblrths) & AUGUSTUS CRANE (@cfcannons) ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: TRIBUTE TOWER, LIVINIA'S ROOM ᴡʜᴇɴ: MORNING AFTER THE TRIBUTE BALL

tw: torture mention, parental death

Livinia had woken up in her room at the tribute tower. For a moment, she thinks it might have all just been a bad dream. That she'd been so tired from the night before that she'd gone back to the tower than her own apartment, fallen asleep on the couch in her dress and neglected to remove her makeup. Her head is pounding more than it usually would from a typical hangover, every single one of her nerves seem to be fried, her muscles stiff and sore.

She raises a hand to her face and her fingertips come away black with smudged mascara – she stares at it for a long moment before noticing four thin, moon-shaped indentations across her palm, caked with dried blood. "Oh, god..." She whispers, looking at her other palm and finding matching marks, formed from her own nails pressing too hard against tender flesh. The night comes back to her after that – the questioning, the torture, Maxim's screams, and...

She scrambles to pick up her phone, finding it on the table next to her. Dozens of messages light up the screen – sorry about your mom, my condolences, my thoughts are with your family – and there's news articles at the top – FOUR KILLED BY REBELS. TRIBUTES FLOW FOR CRANE MATRIARCH. REMEMBERING RHEA CRANE. She's going to be sick. Her hands begin to shake so violently that her phone clatters to the ground, the screen shattering on impact. "Shit," She mutters, gently bending down to pick up the shattered glass. She needs to contact her siblings.

Before she can dial the phone, there is a knock at her door. There is nothing she wants less than to answer it – to be seen like this, makeup smeared across her face, burn marks on her collarbone. But there's an undercurrent of fear – that it's a peacekeeper on the other side, that if she doesn't answer, she will be punished again for non-compliance. She swipes at her eyes and flattens her dress, hoping to look somewhat presentable, and goes to the door. She cracks it open, just enough to see whoever is on the other side, but all pretence of hesitancy is dropped when she catches sight of MAXIM.

He looks worse than she does – battered and bruised and with dark circles under his eyes. She only takes in his appearance for a second before she is lunging forward, wrapping her arms around him and burying her head into his chest. It's an act so vulnerable that it reminds her of when they were kids, before the world hardened them into monsters. "Thank fuck you're alive." 

[victoriams]

❛   lean .   sender leans  on  receiver's  shoulder . i want softness liv and max

It's late. She's not exactly sure of the time – though with the way light already seems to be peeking above the horizon, Livinia would suspect that twilight is slowly giving way to dawn, and that the party she had been at, like so many others before, had gone on for far longer than intended. It can be easy for Livinia to forget how much fun her siblings can be – when they're not all busy squabbling and competing for their parents' limited affections. Her husband had excused himself early in the night – and yet Livinia had been compelled to stay, Augustus and Maxim grabbing her by the hands and pulling her onto the dance floor.

She lets out a sigh, leaning back against the headrest – eyes fluttering between open and closed, exhaustion finally overtaking her. Her younger brother is in the seat next to her – it's on my way, she'd insisted, pulling him into the taxi behind her ( it's not really on her way – but he'd been almost too intoxicated to stand by the time last drinks were finally called ). She only realises she's begun to drift off when she feels a weight on her shoulder – eyes cast down to see Max's sleeping form curled up against her, head tucked into the crook of her neck. Something between a laugh and a scoff escapes her – though there is a fondness there. Something nostalgic – she hasn't seen her brother like this, so vulnerable, since they were children.

They stay like this for some time – Maxim's rhythmic breathing against her arm, her own forehead pressed against the cool window glass, watching the bright city lights whir by. She is only disturbed by their car pulling to a stop outside of Max's home. Livinia reaches out to nudge her brother – he stirs only slightly, bleary eyes prying open unhappily. "You're home." She says, attempting to extract herself from Max's weight – only for him to groan and attempt to go right back to sleep. A sigh, Livinia turns back to the driver, "Sorry, just take us both to my place – he can stay with me tonight." The engine starts again, and Livinia settles back into place, allowing herself to rest.

[victoriams]

❛   hush .   raise  a  finger  in  a  gesture  to  silence  my  muse . MAX AND LIV LMFAOOOO

circa. the week after the 74th games

The adults have locked themselves away in the kitchen ( and how rare it is, to see their parents in that room – almost as if they were readying themselves to care for their children ), ushering Livinia and her siblings out of the room frantically. We find her with an ear pressed against the wall, desperately trying to overhear the hushed voices on the other side. It would be a whole lot easier, she thinks, to eavesdrop if not for the incessant, blissful, nattering beside her.

Maxim's chatter was something like white noise to her by now – a constant thrum, vibrating vocal chords to match a mind that didn't know how to switch off. Were she any older than nine, perhaps she would stop to ask her brother if he was okay – if this was a cry for something they don't have the right combination of words to express yet. Instead, she turns to him and presses a finger to his lips – perhaps a little more forcefully than intended. "Do you ever shut up?" She hisses ( shut up was a curse she'd learned at school – she was careful not to use it in front of mother ).

She's sure if she looked in the mirror, her face would be perfectly furious – nose scrunched, eyes narrowed, ears tinged with pink. It has worked, though – there is finally, finally silence. Livinia can finally make out the whispers on the other side of the wall – something about punish and games and berries. She pulls her hand back and moves to press her ear back against the wall, but falls short when she catches a glimpse of Max's face. The way his mouth is closed, yes – but also the way his lip quivers ever so slightly, the way his eyes are a touch damper than they were before.

Perhaps she'd been a little meaner than she'd intended.

There is a brief moment of deliberation – her desire to see what the adults are playing at competes with her discomfort at seeing her little brother upset. She lets out a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry, okay?" She says, crawling away from the wall and back over to Maxim – sitting cross-legged in front of him. "Do you want to play go fish?" She ignores the pang in her chest when she sees Max's face light up. She also ignores the way her own smile brightens in return.

She never did find out exactly what the adults were talking about that day.