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@theoscarotto
“Disobedience, in the eyes of any one who has read history, is man’s original virtue. It is through disobedience that progress has been made, through disobedience and through rebellion.”
— Oscar Wilde, The Soul of Man Under Socialism
OSCAR ISAAC as Duke Leto Atreides in Dune 2020
Through The Walls // A Conversation as heard by Demeter Magnifico
The young girl couldn’t have told you why her father forced her along on his business trip when the bi-annual Games were set to begin. There were quite a few faces she was interested in seeing the fates of, though she held more interest in witnessing how convicted criminals would hold their own in a fight to the death. Criminals fell on either end of the spectrum of intelligence. Those too small minded to have gotten away with their crime or any other for that matter, and those who even the most triumphant and confident protagonist would be foolish to underestimate. The latter group was more her cup of tea.
They’d traveled past Capitol borders, as far as she could tell. A large man wearing an official looking white uniform questioned their purpose at a gate. (right about the time when Demeter was asking herself the same question). Her father flashed some sort of identification at him and they were allowed through to the other side, where a car with darkly tinted windows delivered them first through a tunnel and then through a narrow street of sorts in the middle of it. They traveled for over an hour in complete silence. Demeter hadn’t ever been where they were, she thought. She figured she hadn’t been where they were going either. She wouldn’t know anything about their whereabouts if she hadn’t squinted forward as they exited the vehicle. There, miles away now, rested the mountains she viewed every day, except the opposite face of them stared back at her.
It was terribly dark in the place her father had brought her. The entrance they came through hardly looked like a door at all, instead appearing like a dusty reflective surface glued onto a concrete wall. The longest flight of stairs led them downwards until she could no longer hear noises from above and the looming sensation that came with being underground tingled in her skin. Her father remained oddly quiet, a side of him she wasn’t used to seeing. Any other day, he’d be chatting her up, asking about school, praising her about something. Today he said nothing and walked faster than she could keep up with. The darkness covered every inch of space around them until they came to what looked like a dead end. Another concrete wall with yet another assortment of reflective something. She looked back at herself with her heart in her throat. Where on earth were they?
Her father continued forward as though there was still somewhere to go. He pulled something as dark as their surroundings from his pocket and jabbed it into a space in the wall. Then, like some sort of magic, it opened. The concrete split at the middle, bathing them in a flood of light from the inside. Demeter, relieved to finally see more than a foot in front of her, celebrated for a mere moment before she was ushered inside by her dad. He still seemed like he knew where he was going, so she trusted him. For the most part. The mean things her mother whispered about him to her friends didn’t go unheard by her, and though she thought them untrue, it was hard not to think about them now.
“Demeter, my love,” he spoke finally, stroking her hair delicately. “I’ll need you to wait in this room. Make yourself at home, but mind your manners. I’ll be attending to some business and will come to get you in a little while.” She wasn’t given time to say anything back. She was pushed inside and the automatic doors locked behind her. The room she was in had several couches and spread wide. A television was present, though it played nothing. Magazines were everywhere, as well as weird books with starred flags on the cover she didn’t recognize. They were musty, old, and obviously well-studied by someone. She half-pretended to flip through a magazine, but it was ancient. It had articles about “new” victor Brynn Weaver and stuff about something called Alice. The young girl sighed in a bored defeat and pulled her legs to her chest on the sofa. In the silence of her contemplation, she recognized her father’s voice through the wall just behind her. Another voice was there too, speaking seriously too him.
“Just because she hasn’t killed you yet does not mean she is not aware of the purpose you’ve been fulfilling for us.”
“I couldn’t care less about what she does or does not know. I have done a damn...” Some of the words were lost to mumbles or the halfway decent insulation in the walls.
“Your responsibilities put you in jeopardy, Mr. Magnifico. As much as I hate to feed your ego, much of what we have already accomplished couldn’t have been done without you. If we are to.....we must prioritize....recruit...”
“I completely agree with everything except..me out...I know what I’m doing.”
There was a long period where Demeter could hear no voices. Did they know she was listening? She crossed her fingers they weren’t aware of her eavesdropping.
“....be careful,” the other voice finally said about something. “Mistakes and foolishness are the reason we are still in the situation we are in.”
“And what...victors,” her father’s voice said. “We need their cooperation or else we....I expect you to recognize....with them....win.”
“That remains to be seen,” the other voice said sternly. “For now, the fight belongs to our people....meaning our people should be the ones to fight against their true oppressors. We need them to rally t......know....striving for.”
“And how do you intend to reach the entirety of Panem without attracting the attention of Battenberg?”
“I needn’t her to be uninformed.” The room went silent again, like both people were thinking to themselves or something.
“....gone undetected every time prior. How do we proceed?”
“And you’re sure you can.......?”
“I’ve never been more certain of something and never shall be again.”
“...it. Before the end of the Games.....we shall...strike them each where it hurts.”
Another moment of silence passed, but Demeter was almost certain she heard a muffled version of her father’s snicker before he spoke again.
“I’ll be needing a pen.”
The sound of a door opening on the outside startled her back into a casual sitting position instead of being propped up with her ear pressed against the wall. She grabbed the magazine she at first thought boring, but would gladly be caught reading if it meant nobody would know she was being noisy. Like she expected, the door she had come through opened up. On the other side was her father, a content smirk on his face.
“Change of plans, my darling. It looks like we’ll be staying as company for my dear old friend for a little longer than I expected.”
Before the Reaping, Vega thought that the full fledged escorts had it easy. She thought they just stayed around drinking tea while they made the trainees do the real work. Now she knew that was bullshit. Vega had been on the phone, scheduling a time for one of her tributes to get some extra one on one help in the training center. As she ended the call, she glanced over at the nearest person. “I severely underestimated how much work goes into all of this.”
“Severely underestimated the work or severely underestimated the passion you have for it?” Hermes, with no tribute seemingly emerging as leader of the pack nor dark horse nor appealing underdog, decided the disappointment of the slim pickings was to be everyone else’s problem for as long as it was his. He wore proudly a healing gash on the left side of his face, courtesy of Aphrodite’s powerful glass-throwing hand. He should have ducked, but even he knew he deserved it after comparing her mother to that of a mutt from the 117th Games.
hermesmagnifico:
“No need to call me sir,” he remembered to tell her after being referred to as such at least more than once. He didn’t need her treating him respect and wasting her time trying to warm up to him when his decision was already concrete. Perhaps her spoken off district partner was more willing to be interesting, but Hermes wouldn’t be holding his breath.
“For your sake, I hope your perspective is correct,” he offered. “In my experiences, it is not, but even I would not go as far to say I’m right one-hundred percent of the time. Merely ninety-eight.”
“Of course. I’m sorry,” Winnie apologized, wincing a little at her own lack of knowledge. Whoever he was, she knew he was important. She’d recognized most of the faces in the Capitol, just often didn’t match them to their names. “I hope so, too. Being here was kind of a two-percent thing, I work hard to stay out of the Reaping. I’ll go on the knowledge that I’m going to be that two percent again.”
“So be it,” he concluded. “Best wishes to you and yours as you embark on this journey, Ms. Sycamore. Until we meet again.” Hermes twiddled his fingers at the girl as he walked away, set to met other tributes who better appealed to him. If she was the best the criminal justice system had to offer, the Games would undoubtedly be a bust.
hermesmagnifico:
Mentally, he wrote her off and hoped death would find her hastily and with pain absent, mostly because he found her incapable of suffering through anything worse while simultaneously maintaining her dignity. Physically, his eyes rolled their way into blurry spots underneath their lids.
“Perhaps.” Entertaining her stance would bring no harm to him. One of the greatest benefits of his chosen career paths was that there was no real risk for the hand dealing the cash. “Good, according to every tale, book, and movie franchise in history, does ultimately prevail over evil. A number of our recent, soft as dough victors speak for that consistency. I can only wonder if such a “guarantee” can hold up in the world we live in.”
“I don’t know if there’s a guarantee,” Winnie agreed, drumming her fingers against the side of her teacup. “But there is a chance. There’s always a chance, sir. And maybe I’m not the strongest and everyone else might have a little more, um, murder experience than I do. But there is a chance. It’s all I’ve got to work with, but maybe it could be enough. I’m certainly going to try. Because if I won doing things I don’t agree with, treating people cruelly… then I couldn’t live with myself.”
“No need to call me sir,” he remembered to tell her after being referred to as such at least more than once. He didn’t need her treating him respect and wasting her time trying to warm up to him when his decision was already concrete. Perhaps her spoken off district partner was more willing to be interesting, but Hermes wouldn’t be holding his breath.
“For your sake, I hope your perspective is correct,” he offered. “In my experiences, it is not, but even I would not go as far to say I’m right one-hundred percent of the time. Merely ninety-eight.”
hermesmagnifico:
“Of course you’re not,” he sighed. Whether or not the girl was guilty of her crimes or bound to commit more he couldn’t care less about. The twinkle visible only to him was fading for her, far too quickly for his taste. “You don’t have to change who you are inherently. Only temporarily, in order to come out of this competition on top. Weaknesses must be shed and compromises with oneself must be made. The latter of the two I’m unable to assist you with. The former is quite easy. Simply, stop. Niceities and friendly gestures will get you as far as the bloodbath before you’re dead. Ruthlessness and placing your livelihood in your top priority spot will keep you alive, for the most part.”
She frowned, “I would rather die and be kind than live and be cruel,” Winnie said softly, staring at the man’s collar rather than at his face. “I can put my livelihood first, and Rowan, he… he’s going to do the same. Even though that’s hard. Everything else comes down to how much I can learn. I’m s-sorry, sir, but I think you’re wrong.” The scarlet flushed down her cheeks to her neck, and Winnie was surprised that she was this calm. “I’ve lived this long believing that sometimes, the nice one comes out on top. It is all that’s helped me survive.” She inhaled deeply, nearly forgetting how afraid of him she was. “Perhaps I can prove that to you.”
Mentally, he wrote her off and hoped death would find her hastily and with pain absent, mostly because he found her incapable of suffering through anything worse while simultaneously maintaining her dignity. Physically, his eyes rolled their way into blurry spots underneath their lids.
“Perhaps.” Entertaining her stance would bring no harm to him. One of the greatest benefits of his chosen career paths was that there was no real risk for the hand dealing the cash. “Good, according to every tale, book, and movie franchise in history, does ultimately prevail over evil. A number of our recent, soft as dough victors speak for that consistency. I can only wonder if such a “guarantee” can hold up in the world we live in.”
hermesmagnifico:
“That will have to go as well,” he advised plainly. “The harmless, defenseless act has indeed worked in the past, but it requires alterior motives and a driving force in order to be effective. Johanna Mason pulled it off merely because she was anything but harmless and defenseless. You appear to be both of these things.” Hermes sipped from his drink to pause, leaving the girl to wonder if she should be offended or not. He didn’t see her squirm on the outside, but such a comment didn’t pass through anyone’s thoughts without a second one. “Qualities not to be ashamed of in most contexts. As a tribute, however, they should be repressed.”
Winnie frowned. “That’s not an act, though. That’s just… me.” She couldn’t open up to this man about the fact that the Games had changed almost everything about her daily life a year ago, that because of the Talent Show she spent most days reminding herself how to breathe and that there was no space in her mind to even fathom creating a persona for herself. “If I get rid of that, there’s not going to be anything left,” she added, her voice soft.
“That can’t be the only way,” she said, more to herself than to him. There had to be something else. Rowan would help her. He would think of something. He had been the only reason she got out of bed most days. That would not change. “I might have a criminal record,” her voice hitched at the word. “But I can assure you, sir, that, um… I’m not like that.”
“Of course you’re not,” he sighed. Whether or not the girl was guilty of her crimes or bound to commit more he couldn’t care less about. The twinkle visible only to him was fading for her, far too quickly for his taste. “You don’t have to change who you are inherently. Only temporarily, in order to come out of this competition on top. Weaknesses must be shed and compromises with oneself must be made. The latter of the two I’m unable to assist you with. The former is quite easy. Simply, stop. Niceities and friendly gestures will get you as far as the bloodbath before you’re dead. Ruthlessness and placing your livelihood in your top priority spot will keep you alive, for the most part.”
hermesmagnifico:
Hermes, as any good sponsor would, decided to scope out the new crop of tributes at the earliest opportunity. He admittedly missed the thrill of actively searching for qualities that appealed to him, that he deemed worthy of getting a chance to remain living. For the tribute’s sake and to add another figurehead for the rebellion’s pawns to follow. It was still his own agenda, separate from anything the still mute Primrose Everdeen instructed him to do. He had to do something while he waited for an instruction to delve into.
“I’ll take one,” he replied, snatching a glass from the Avox’s tray before shooing them away. “It may be in your best interest to cleanse yourself of that politeness, young lady. Your competitors won’t be so friendly when you cross paths.”
Originally posted by oscaricaas
Winnie offered the Avox a little wave as they left, wondering why people in the Capitol dismissed them so quickly. She had always been taught to treat others with respect, regardless of their level of power. Wyatt had even told her before she left that she needed to stay true to herself, to who they all knew Winnie was. And Winnie was the kind of girl to thank a butterfly for letting her see its beauty.
“I’m really just nervous, to be quite honest,” Winnie replied softly, looking up at the man. He was familiar, a little, but most of the Capitol people on television started to all look the same. “I don’t know if I can, um, do that. Not easily, at least. I don’t think I’m like a lot of these people, and perhaps everyone needs a little kindness.” She paused, thinking it over. What would Rowan do? What would he suggest? “Maybe I can turn it into something that, um, works in my favour. Stranger things have happened.”
“That will have to go as well,” he advised plainly. “The harmless, defenseless act has indeed worked in the past, but it requires alterior motives and a driving force in order to be effective. Johanna Mason pulled it off merely because she was anything but harmless and defenseless. You appear to be both of these things.” Hermes sipped from his drink to pause, leaving the girl to wonder if she should be offended or not. He didn’t see her squirm on the outside, but such a comment didn’t pass through anyone’s thoughts without a second one. “Qualities not to be ashamed of in most contexts. As a tribute, however, they should be repressed.”
The Tower was more than Winnie ever could’ve imagined. More beautiful, more intense, more crowded, more loud. As much as part of her wanted to cling to Rowan or cry into her pillow, there was another part of her that just needed to walk. She couldn’t go out into the fields the way she used to back home, to run her anxiety off surrounded by cattle and sheep, but in the Capitol, they didn’t seem to admire open air or green space.
Also, it was winter. And it was freezing. The knit sweater over her dress that kept her warm in Ten did not work here in the Capitol where they actually had snow.
The best she could do was get a cup of tea and just hang around the outer walls of the lobby, until Rowan was finished being measured for his costume and could be back at her side. It felt awkward, being alone here. She never felt fully complete without him. An Avox approached with a tray of drinks and she shook her head. “Oh, no thanks,” Winnie said softly. “I’ve got something, already.” Turning to the person nearby, she waved them forward, hoping she wasn’t standing in their way. “Oh, sorry about that. You go ahead.”
Hermes, as any good sponsor would, decided to scope out the new crop of tributes at the earliest opportunity. He admittedly missed the thrill of actively searching for qualities that appealed to him, that he deemed worthy of getting a chance to remain living. For the tribute’s sake and to add another figurehead for the rebellion’s pawns to follow. It was still his own agenda, separate from anything the still mute Primrose Everdeen instructed him to do. He had to do something while he waited for an instruction to delve into.
“I’ll take one,” he replied, snatching a glass from the Avox’s tray before shooing them away. “It may be in your best interest to cleanse yourself of that politeness, young lady. Your competitors won’t be so friendly when you cross paths.”
hermesmagnifico:
“Hunter Twill doesn’t want to talk? I’ve seen many things, but nothing as surprising as this. And I saw Maxine Bauer slice a blondie’s throat clean through.” Hermes hadn’t, and would never, congratulate his friend on his second victory. He opted instead to pretend to trauma accompanying the previous Games never happened. After all, it could have ended in a manner so much worse.
‘‘Hunter Twill doesn’t want close to anything. I’ve never been picky,’‘ Hunter smiled with feigned innocence, grin a bit childish and faultless. ‘‘Do you want a picture?’‘ he inquired neutrally, as if talking to a fan that rushed by his side to greet their hero. Of course, that was nothing but a harmless joke, shreds of Hunter’s ego that was quieting down only for the moment. It was a weird time in his life, but he understood some of it, finally.
“Thank you for the once in a lifetime chance, but I’ve got all the pictures I could ever need. All excellent sources of blackmail for when the opportunity arises. Don’t fret, you’re clothed in all of them. Mostly.” Hermes inhaled the smoke from his cigar, a habit he’d picked up over the autumn months. It clouded his eyes from the outside and blocked out everyone, Hunter included. He cared not about seeing anyone that night anyways. None of the districts interested him anymore.
hermesmagnifico:
Hermes flew free as a bird throughout the Victory Ball floor. Having Hunter back amongst the party was a swell enough pleasure, though rivaled by the jubilation he carried for adding another bragging right to his belt. Sponsors were a ridiculous, idiotic breed of Capitolite. They would sing his praises all because he hadn’t been foolish enough to bet on anyone but Hunter. To keep the streak going was a challenge he’d yet to accomplish, but now that the opportunity presented itself again, it would be one of his many ambitious goals.
“Ah yes,” he chimed. “I fondly remember the day President Battenberg decreed this particular balcony to belong to nobody else but bitter trainer woman. A wonderous day in our history.”
“Mmm, me too.” Lana hummed, leaning back in her chair. She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Gotta say, I was surprised, but it was worth all the hard work I put in if it means you’ll leave me alone.”
Hermes ignored her requests and approached without hesitation, gladly grabbing hold of the balcony rail. Though he held no regrets for his behavior, the man did secure a tighter grip on the rail after a moment’s thought. Better to be beaten while holding on than be sent plummeting over the edge. “Hard work doesn’t get you everything,” he informed her. “If it did, I would be divorced, my wife’s fortune would be mine, and my daughter would be immune from the reapings. Life always holds hostage those few last luxuries. Privacy appears to be yours.”
Until the moment of the ball, Hunter cut the human interaction to a minimum, to recharge his batteries and return in glory during the big night. Despite barely having talked once or twice to his immediate neighbors, he was charming on stage during the Victor’s Tour, but only until the curtains would close. Then, he returned into his shell, impossible to bother. Now, however, he was blooming again. ‘’I’m sorry, we can’t talk for long. I have a word count. Like a post avox diet,’’ he spoke to one, distracted by another and overwhelmed generally.
“Hunter Twill doesn’t want to talk? I’ve seen many things, but nothing as surprising as this. And I saw Maxine Bauer slice a blondie’s throat clean through.” Hermes hadn’t, and would never, congratulate his friend on his second victory. He opted instead to pretend to trauma accompanying the previous Games never happened. After all, it could have ended in a manner so much worse.
Lana was perched on one of the balconies at the Presidential Mansion, a cigarette between her lips. Despite the chilly night, Lana was more comfortable in the outside air than she was inside. Losing Missy so close to the end was gut wrenching, especially considering she, like Iona, had lost to Hunter Twill. She’d assumed it would be easier to get the kids out of the arena alive, especially getting Kelvin out during her first Games as trainer. Now she wasn’t so sure she’d be able to pull that off again. Missy could match even Lana in a sparring session, and even she hadn’t managed to pull off a Victory.
Staring out over the city, Lana heard footsteps coming towards her over the roar of the crowd. She didn’t turn when she heard the footsteps, merely speaking over her shoulder. “Spot’s taken.”
Hermes flew free as a bird throughout the Victory Ball floor. Having Hunter back amongst the party was a swell enough pleasure, though rivaled by the jubilation he carried for adding another bragging right to his belt. Sponsors were a ridiculous, idiotic breed of Capitolite. They would sing his praises all because he hadn’t been foolish enough to bet on anyone but Hunter. To keep the streak going was a challenge he’d yet to accomplish, but now that the opportunity presented itself again, it would be one of his many ambitious goals.
“Ah yes,” he chimed. “I fondly remember the day President Battenberg decreed this particular balcony to belong to nobody else but bitter trainer woman. A wonderous day in our history.”
hermesmagnifico:
“Hey there Clover, how have you been?” Caspian’s eyes lit up at the sight of the mentor, her face one of the friendliest he’d ever been privileged to know. Since he was a young boy, he trusted her first as the caretaker of him and Haydn’s playdates and secondly as someone to look up to in moral standing.
“Cas-” She smiled at the boy, she had watched grow up so closely. It was impressive into what kind of a man he had grown and Clover couldn’t say that she wasn’t entirely proud of him. “I’m- good. It’s okay. How about you?”
“I don’t have anything to complain about,” he said honestly. “Aside from being dragged here against my will.” He gestured to a mingling Oceana across the room. “I’ve never learned how to say no,” he smiled.
@hermesmagnifico
Oceana knew how lucky she was that Caspian even bothered to come. She knew he hated these parties, so the fact that he put up with them for her sake was a very big deal. When she found him, she brought a drink for both of them. “I was beginning to think you ran off,” she teased him. “Have I told you lately you’re the best boyfriend in the world?” she asked while offering him one of the drinks.
Caspian blushed and attempted to shield his face with the bright fruit punch in his glass. “You tell me pretty frequently and I never believe you,” he mumbled. “Enjoying yourself? It’s nice when all the attention isn’t on your district.” He’d seen enough Four wins to know what he was talking about, half of which belonging to people he held dear.
Clover felt sick to her stomach. Her fingers clinging onto the glass she had recently aquiered she kept glancing around making sure to know where Alexander and Haydn were at all times trying to soothe her nerves. As she found a familiar face in the crowd her voice was a little shaky speaking up: “Well, hello there…”
“Hey there Clover, how have you been?” Caspian’s eyes lit up at the sight of the mentor, her face one of the friendliest he’d ever been privileged to know. Since he was a young boy, he trusted her first as the caretaker of him and Haydn’s playdates and secondly as someone to look up to in moral standing.
