Rock on gold dust woman Take your silver spoon Dig your grave Heartless challenge Pick your path and I'll pray Wake up in the morning See your sunrise loves to go down Lousy lovers pick their prey But they never cry out loud Cry out Did she make you cry Make you break down Shatter your illusions of love And is it over now do you know how Pick up the pieces and go home.
freya barely had a moment to adjust to the bright lights and cacophony the capitol provided before she was being used as a tower of support for the stranger passing by. “oh,” was all she was able to get out as she used her body to stand the stranger back up, making sure she was steady on her feet before taking half a step back.
“it’s alright,” freya said automatically. she was still trying to register what exactly was going on–but the woman before her did not look young enough to be a tribute herself. “are you alright? do you need me to help you get somewhere?” any task that would take her away from the busy thoroughfare was welcome.
THE GIRL FROM TEN. petra’s eyes would’ve lit up had she not been incognito ( which seemed like the best word to use to describe her current situation ) she had yet to run in to a tribute, aside from the ones from four who she’d spent little time getting to know . ‘ no help.’ she shook her head.
sussing out the tributes was important to petra this year, which made a change. she’d been told about how the rebels had hopes katniss would be their poster child. that plan went awry. they were likely searching for another one, she had no doubt that was why she’d been told to get to know them. she gripped the girl’s arm, ‘the capitol have helped me enough.’
She put her hands out to catch the woman’s shoulders. This person didn’t seem to be deliberately picking a fight, so Stellina reined in the desire to give her a hard time for bumping into her. “Are you alright there, sweetheart?” she asked, brows furrowing with concern as she took in the other woman’s state.
This was Petra Vikander, she realised. The victor from Four with the morphling problem.
“Let’s get you back up to Four’s floor, yeah?” she suggested calmly.
SWEETHEART? petra wanted to vomit, & it wasn’t due to the fact that she’d been throwing herself around for the past few minutes. the only person who ever called her sweetheart was her mother. urgh, she shook her head to get rid of the memory. ‘ i’m fine.’ she slurred. ‘ just enjoying the festivities.’
at the girls next words petra pulled away. ‘ why? ’ she snarled slightly. ‘i’m not hurting nobody. ’ just snow, hopefully.
The warning had come too little too late. Dorian had turned around in time for Petra to run right into him. He reached out to try and catch her and keep her from falling onto the floor. “Whoa, easy,” he spoke, standing still to give her a moment to find her footing again. Dorian had to give her credit for playing it as cool as she had, but he wondered if there was more to it than a cool head. Her eyes were half open, seemingly in a daze as she looked at him. Or in his direction. “No problem. Maybe we should find somewhere to sit,” he offered, still standing by her in case she still needed to use him as a crutch while he looked for a spot for them to sit.
GREAT, petra had quite literally just thrown herself into a mans arms. so she could take that off her things i will never do list. she clutched hold of the males arm, pretending to stabilize herself once more. dorian. she knew she recognised the voice. hadn’t he been the one she’d bragged to about being invincible. they didn’t care about what she said, she had boasted. wrong. she recalled that conversation, he wasn’t much of a fan of the capitol, was he? the beginning of the games was as good a time to find out. ‘ we should. i need to sit... ’ she let her eyes roll back slightly. ‘ & you’re gonna sit with me. ’ she scowled, dragging him towards a seat in the corner of the room
‘ COMING THROUGH. ’ there were too many people around. she had to get out before she became too much of a standout. petra’s feet were starting to feel a fuzzy as her brain. they were giving way, she was falling over the edge & landing with a ---- crash! she fell in to someone. but who? or was it whom? grammar was important, even whilst pretending to be off your face. she used the person she’d fallen on to pull herself back up, finding her feet once more. looking down at them, she grinned. ‘ hey there you are. ’ she looked up at her unwilling saviour, her eyes half open, ‘ sorry bout that. feeling a little clumsy today.’
Calico was exhausted from being a new mother as she went to a local restaurant to try and get some lunch after moving back into The Tower. She hadn’t been sleeping well and that was clear on her face as she stared off blankly, waiting for her food.
WHERE WAS THAT BARTENDER? petra had found herself at some kind of restaurant a few minutes ago & her first thought had been about alcohol. she needed a break from everything. frustrated, she banged on the bar with her fist, ‘ am i invisible? ’ she turned her head to a neighbouring blonde. she recognised her. her voice was drowsy as she spoke. ‘you can see me right? ’
Cashmere knew most of her fellow Victors dreaded their return to the Capitol, but honestly, she looked forward to it. Oddly, after more than a decade, it felt like a home away from home. What was not to love? The people adored her here and all she needed was a smile, a wink, and to ask and she could have whatever she wanted. In the Capitol, Cashmere knew what people wanted and more than that, she knew how to deliver.
“Can you hand me that…” She turned motioning to the headband that was laying on the table. Their stylist was too busy fussing over the new tributes to worry about fixing her hair. No worries, Cashmere was more than capable. “Can’t go out looking less than perfect, can I?” She asked. “How about you, are you excited?”
THIS SITUATION WAS HARD. the art of lying was one petra was fine with, pretending to be something that she wasn’t --- heck she’d spent her whole life doing that. however she hadn’t quite taken in to account how hard it would be to interact with her friends. cashmere was one of those. if she were anyone else, perhaps she would tell her. but she was cashmere: the capitols darling. it wasn’t smart. so on went her act.
‘ what? --- oh this. ’ she was half dozing at the table, feeling around for the headband like she was that blind girl from six. she put on some shivers as she outstretched her hand to hand cashmere the headband. ‘ so tell me... ’ she smirked, a glazed over look in her eyes as she gestured to her rather out-of-style clothing. perhaps it would’ve been in style during the dark days. ‘ h - how do i look? ’
Word had spread fast with the officials from Four.
‘Have you seen Vikander? She’s a mess.’ one said ‘When hasn’t she been?’ scoffed another.
She wasn’t sure how they’d come to that conclusion. She had barely left her house during the six months post-victory ball. So unless they had camer’s in her house, which wouldn’t surprise Petra, they shouldn’t have known. Maybe they could tell as soon as she’d reached the justice building that morning. She was first there, one look and they had her ushered out towards the train immediately. There were dark circles around her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in months. Her hair was matted together, her clothes in tatters. She was stumbling all over the place. They were the telltale signs. She was not in a ‘fit state’ to be on stage, humiliating District Four, even more so than she already had. As soon as she’d reached the justice building she’d been ushered towards the train station and thrown into one of the rooms.
‘Take a shower, you stink.’ Claimed someone as they threw her to the ground. For once, she actually did as she was told. The water on her skin felt so soothing. It ran through her clumped hair, that she had neglected for around a month. In her mind, she counted the minutes until the reaping would begin, though she’d lost count and given up after a while. She stepped out of the shower, her hair dripping wet, wrapped in a towel. She would get dressed later. So she opted to sit on the bed and watch the reaping live. She hadn’t gotten a chance to do that recently. The first three districts went by without issues. Four careers and one little girl. Shit. When they’d got to four, she switched off. The element of surprise was always exciting. Besides, she couldn’t stand the reaping, high or sober.
Which one was she at that moment ?
She let her eyes close and her arm drop to the side of the bed, her lips in a smile.
Silence was her friend for around half an hour. It was good, gave her time to think. For the first time in months her head was clear --- or rather, clearer than it had been six months prior. She had stood against that wall in the presidents mansion and desired to reach for the needle. When she’d reached the solace of the bathroom, she’d clutched in in her hand, the needle brushed against her skin. Then came a voice, this time it wasn’t in her head.
‘I thought you were stronger than this.’ A male stood in front of her, a smirk on his face.
Was she strong? She had won the games, she should’ve been. The temptation had proved too much to deal with…or rather, it almost had. For so many years she’d had shady figures offering her things in the back of alleys and the occasional toilet stall. This one had been different.
What he had offered was a chance to be invincible again, without sticking the needle in her arm. And the chance to make the most of it. What had been the words he’d whispered in her ear?
‘ There’s a new era coming. ’
There was a commotion from the other train carriage which signaled that it was time. The unlucky tributes, or lucky if they were career tributes, had been chosen and the journey was about to begin. Petra had never cared before about switching in to mentor mode. Her best tactic was to not help. So when the tributes piled on to the train there was usually no ‘game face’ moment. No stern look in her eyes. No comforting words. That wasn’t about to change. Instead she pulled back on the tattered clothing she’d been wearing before and given herself one look in the mirror. The face that looked back wasn’t her own, it was a ghost of what she once was. A result of the capitol’s generous gift.
The gift that had taught her, that if they thought she was high, she could get away with anything. They wouldn’t need to worry.
“I’m less worried about scaring her and more worried about adding more fuel to an already awful experience. Don’t tell me your victor ball was easy on you.” No one had an easy time with the victor ball. Being confronted wiht the things you’d done and the excess of the Capitol was sickening. Marina could remember slipping away to cry in a bathroom during her own ball and her stylist scolding her for ruining her makeup. Everyone kept staring at her and at the time, Marina couldn’t handle it. She felt like everyone saw her scar instead of who she was as a person.
Sighing heavily, Marina brought her drink to her lips and sipped it. “No,” she admitted. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere but here, though I think the same could be said for most of the victors in attendance.” For once Marina was an exception. She was hoping she could enjoy herself, or at least find Callahan and steal him for a dance before the night was over. Having spent months calling him and hearing about the girls and how things were in District Nine…she’d like to see him in the flesh. “Have you seen Lincoln yet this evening?” she asked after a moment. “I wonder how he’s fairing.”
‘ OH, IT WAS GREAT. ’ petra’s voice oozed sarcasm, a devious glint in her eyes. ‘ nice music, all you could eat seafood buffet --- & a room full of people who wished me dead. ’ she could still remember the not-so-hushed voices stating how it was such a shame the girl from seven couldn’t hold out any longer or that the flood hadn’t thrown petra into a rock instead of herald. the thought made her wince. ‘ you had to be there. ’
marina evidently could read her so well. petra wasn’t that hard to read when she was in this kind of mood though. she wondered if the woman was worried about her. perhaps she was just stating the obvious. ‘ literally ANYWHERE. ’ death would be easier than this, petra thought. as the conversation steered towards lincoln, her mind wandered away from it’s previous thoughts, thankfully. ' i think he’s fine. i don’t --- ’ really care. her voice trailed off. ‘ you seem to be doing fine though. ’
“I guess you bring out my anger at the world, Petra.” Thalia didn’t have a lot to complain about. She was a businesswoman with her own fashion company, tied to a family that also had successful business, despite other rumours. But, people were jealous, desperate, power-hungry. They would use Thalia for their own gain and sometimes it would sting a little too hard.
She gave Petra a sly smile, waiting to answer until she had her scotch. When it slid into her hand, Thalia took a sip, placing the glass on the table. “When you’re someone that someone else wants to be, people like to take aim at you. Shoot their arrows of jealousy, lust, and anger at you. And sometimes it finds a chink in your armour, you know? So, I may not be as broken as you Petra, but I get it.”
Sitting back in her chair, Thalia realized how true her words were. It was nice to speak about these kind of things, even if it was with someone like Petra.
‘ YOU’RE WELCOME. ’ she spat out bitterly. petra never meant to bring out the anger in anyone. it was a subconscious thing. no one could be more angry than she was --- she’d fight anyone who said otherwise. ‘ don’t lay that at my door though. ’ she shook her head as she spoke. petra was just figuring out that she may be responsible for her own words; she didn’t want to be at blame for others as well.
thalia’s words caused petra to down the entirety of what was left in the strangers glass before she could even think of what to say. her mind was processing a lot at that point, so she just had to focus on one part of the other’s statement. her tone sharp, she glared at her, ‘ i’m not b r o k e n. ’ though of course, she was. she was the shell of a happy kid who the capitol had ripped apart, then put back together in the wrong places. ‘ & nobody wants to be me. ’ petra corrected.
suddenly her eyes found a spot in mid air, she was staring into the distance, unaware of her surroundings. a whisper emerged, ‘ not even me. ’
Petra was having a shitty night. The ball was shitty. The energy was shitty. And she was stuck leaning against the wall pretending that the past six months gone by smoothly. They hadn't. The victory ball was the rotten cherry on top of the moldy cake she'd been given after the last games. It wasn't something she ever looked forward to; convening with all of the other Victors whom for the past six months, she could pretend didn't existed. There were a few she didn’t mind seeing. Cashmere was fun, though a constant reminder of the admiration Petra didn’t receive. There was also Marina, but with Marina came with Cal. Petra had already ran into him and his litter earlier that night. She ran a hand through her hair, removing the skull mask she’s recycled from Cash’s party. As her reflexes took over, she threw the mask aside with such force. That was where it had all started. Those emotions bubbled inside of her one more as she did was she always did when she was thinking about her one true love. She clutched hold of her right arm, her old favorite spot. It was a way of grounding herself. Mentally, she counted to ten and took a few breaths.
She’d planned on having a good time. Cash was her friend and she occasionally enjoyed the party. It was less formal than the victor’s ball. She’d picked out her mask and everything. Her macabre tastes had chosen an old dress paired with a skeletal mask. Her stylist didn’t get a say --- she never did. The looks on their faces was what she sought though. Horrifying people speechless was one of the only things she was good at ( If you didn’t count killing people ) so Petra smeared black lipstick across her face and slipped on her shoes. She was going to invest in one of those clutch handbags but the party was only on the rooftop and truthfully, Petra didn’t have anything to put in it. She was sure there’d be a stylist somewhere screaming ‘it’s an accessory’. Oh well. She’d made it to the roof shortly after the party started, what some would consider to be fashionably late. Her heels clicked on the concrete, announcing her entrance. That’s when she heard someone call her name. Someone recognized her despite her mask? That was just it, she’d forgotten that very thing.
Petra was a woman with no shame, for the most part. However standing on that rooftop masquerade party without a mask made her feel nude. Back down the elevator she went. Fortunately avoiding most people as people were going up. Four’s floor was mostly empty, she made her way back to her room with little fuss. But there was something irregular about it. An anomaly.
Sitting diagonally on the corner of her bed was a black sleek box with a red bow wrapped tightly around it’s frame. It hadn’t been there when she left. The box was an oblong shape. Perhaps it was a gift from Marina. What had she done to earn a gift? She barely even interacted with Lincoln and Finnick was…Finnick. Her mind went through an entire list of people that would’ve left her a gift, yet also had access to the fourth floor. It wasn’t a long list. She perched herself on the edge of the bed and placed the box on her lap. There was a card attached that she hadn’t seen from a distance. In printed, cursive letters were two words.
𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯
The glint of the needle caught her eye before anything else. She closed her eyes. She was hallucinating. However when she opened them it was still there. In all it’s glory. Sat in that nicely wrapped box. She followed the needle, down to the barrel that was packed full of that clear liquid already. One hundred millilitres of pure temptation. Her breath began to shake once more. Her heart beats were irregular. For nine-ish years she’d avoided the sight of morphling. Out of sight, out of mind they had always said. Almost a decade. Was that how long it had been? God how she missed it. Like an old friend. …
How much time passed as she was sitting there. It felt like hours had gone by, the party was going on without her. The entire world was going on without her. Fear built up inside her. She was afraid that touching it would make it real, it would ruin her. It took an hour for her to muster the courage to pick it up. She was going to empty it in her sink. Yet as she stood over it with her fingers on the plunger, she was paralysed. A single drip escaped the end. As if it were the last drip of water in the world, she tried to catch it with her hands. Her face falling when it slipped through her fingers. She put it back in it’s place in the box. The morphling that was now missing a drip. Another hour passed. Who had sent it ? Now she knew it wasn’t a pleasant gift. Those words; treat yourself. If she wasn’t on the receiving end she’d find the irony hilarious. There was only one person with such a twisted humour. Snow.
She didn’t return to the party, she didn’t sleep that night, she waited until she could escape the capitol. Every hour that went by was another one closer. Her eyes stayed fixed on the syringe all night. When morning came she got out on the first train back to four. All the while knowing that there was morphling in her bag. She didn’t wait for the bureaucratic bullshit when she got home. Paperwork bored her. So she slipped away to her house and then resumed the activity. Sitting and staring. The next few days were a whirlwind of conclusions. She had no proof it was Snow but the idea alone made her paranoid. She didn’t leave her house without covering her face. Every person was a spy, every peacekeeper was waiting for her to slip up. Give them a reason to use those weapons. She’d spent so long believing she was invincible. Who cared what silly old Vikander had to say? The idea that she wasn’t brought about so many feelings. What if there were actually people waiting round every corner? They’re watching you Petra. The voice in her head told her. Her father began to grow concerned. After three months he said those words: ‘ Are you using again? ’ Paranoia, fatigue from where she couldn’t sleep, hiding things. Those were tell tale signs of her using. He didn’t believe her when she said no. He ransacked her house but he didn’t find the morphling. She was carrying it. He hadn’t talked to her since. Three months of loneliness. She hadn’t spoken to another human. Only herself. And her own voice was the opposite of comforting. There was no one to talk her out of her mental state. It got worse.
They’re watching you. Her breathing lost it’s rhythm once again. Clenched fists caused her nails to scratch against the wall, making her cringe at the sound. Her ears were so sensitive all of a sudden. Every sound they picked up one was a scathing accusation. You think you’re invincible. We have you in the palm of our hands. We control you. Petra thought that her sobriety meant she’d escaped all that. She was so in debt to the capitol for saving her life but her refusal to think about her darkest day meant she’d forgotten; They were the ones who almost ended her life. Handing her morphling in the middle of the night. Slipping it in her bag. She hadn’t escaped anything. They were doing it again.
You’re fighting an unwinnable war. She spotted an avox near her. Laughing at her. She hated it, she was so aware now. She couldn’t handle all the thoughts in her mind. Even clutching on to her arm wasn’t calming her down. The paranoia, the vulnerability. It was too much. She couldn’t breathe.
In the whirlwind of voices in her head a single one broke through. This is what they want Petra. They want you to be a mess --- it sounded too much like all the others. It was getting lost in a sea of fear and she needed to open the floodgates.
Before her mind wouldn’t have gone to that place. Out of sight... she’d tried to remind herself. The morphling wasn’t out of sight though. She couldn’t physically see it, but she knew exactly where it was.
There was a reason she’d decided to carry a clutch to the victory ball.
“Then you’re lucky.” Sponsor Weekly might be exceedingly biased, but he still cared about his persona. After his emotional Hunger Games finale, Lincoln always listened out for news about him. “All I seem to do is check Sponsor Weekly’s mentions of me, especially after that cover shoot.” It could be seen as vain, but he worried about the reports taking a more sinister nature. The Capitol may have accepted how his Games ended, but he still expected some retribution from those who preferred the violence and action in the Arena.
He arched his brow, as Petra looked at the wall behind them. How peculiar. “They’ve had seventy six years to perfect that.” Lincoln remarked. “And it works better than any of us care to admit.” He lowered his voice to match her tone. “But I don’t know. One day something’ll happen that they won’t be able to spin. Panem will just have to take it as it is.”
‘ LUCKY? THAT’S A NEW ONE. ’ that’s the one thing even morphling-induced petra couldn’t pretend to be & she had once thought she was a god for two months. a small smile crept on her face at the thought. that was one of the more tame things she’d done back then. ‘ i didn’t get one of those, a cover shoot. guess they thought no one would buy it. ’ people were still reeling from everything back then. sometimes petra had to wonder, if she did what she did back then in this era of the games, would anyone would care? people had seen so much death, they were more desensitized to it.
‘ seventy six & a half. ’ she corrected, referencing the six months that had passed in the games hiatus. six grueling months. harder than the actual games themselves, in petra’s case. ‘ someday. ’ how she longed for that day when all hell would break loose & they would pay. the day when she wouldn’t be afraid to even think such thoughts. ‘ we shouldn’t talk about that though. ’
“well, you wanted to know why i didn’t recognize you, so…” mare shrugs, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “just being honest.” she frowns when the woman says that she’s wearing a ‘ plastic face ’.
“and what exactly is that supposed to mean?” mare asks, crossing her arms. “are you telling me i’m fake? because i’d love to know where you got that impression. i mean, i was the only one who actually told the truth about kestral drake — that she was a huge piece of shit.” mare’s vaugely aware that if this woman has her mentioning kestral, she must have struck a nerve, but she pushes the thought aside. “and i was the only one who said that kathryn never had a chance when we were all thinking it.”
‘ I REALLY WASN’T THAT INTERESTED. ’ petra rolled her eyes. she had never been a fan of idle chatter, which included learning about the other victors lives. that was particularly true when she was teetering on the edge like she was now.
kestral drake, fakeness, pieces of shit. there were already a dozen thoughts bashing around in petra’s mind at that point, she didn’t have to room for any more. so as mare spoke she simply nodded, which was all she was capable of as she tried to make sense of everything going on around her. ‘ kestral? that’s a stupid name. ’ she scowled, not able to think of a way to respond. she removed all of the thoughts from her mind, focusing in on what mare had said last, ‘ did you tell kathryn that? ’ petra hadn’t paid much attention to the girl from ten. like mare she had written her off. ‘ ...or did you fill her with false hope? ’
“Satire is fine, just try and steer clear of the new victor, Petra. The first ball is hard enough without being faced with a skeleton,” she told her with a shrug. She knew that Jules wasn’t a District Four victor, but Marina always wanted to look out for the new victors. She remembered how hard it could be.
“Are you at least enjoying yourself?” she prompted her friend. “I know these balls aren’t exactly your cup of tea.”
‘ YEAH, WOULDN’T WANT TO SCARE HER. ’ she scoffed, as if being in the games wouldn’t have done that already. petra had trained for them & there was still moments during her games when she was terrified. impending death did that to you. her eyes found the floor as she thought about them.
‘ that’s an understatement. ’ being around the capitol people was getting to her. now more than ever. in four she was just about secure in her own home but here ... they’re watching. ‘what do you think? do i look like i’m enjoying myself? ’
Thalia’s eyebrows rose at her disdain at the food in Four. It was something that Thalia was always raving about. But, she had not grown up there, even if it felt like Four was an important part of her soul. Maybe the locals grew tired of the same thing over and over again, even if Thalia could eat it everyday for the rest of her life. Or maybe Petra was the odd one out? It was possible, especially judging by her outfit.
Imagining Petra as a kid was hard. Thalia only saw the stony exterior that she had only recently met. But she was right. Every kid got hurt by words. “Be glad that your skin has gotten tougher. Sometimes it is hard having soft skin.” She lifted her wine glass off of the table, swirling her wine before downing the rest of it. “Even if your skin looks tough, sometimes people will still throw whatever they have at you.”
She didn’t know if it was the demeanour of Petra that was getting to her or the wine, but she stopped an Avox for something stronger. “A scotch on the rocks, please,” she whispered.
THE ODD ONE OUT, PETRA? she was worse than that. a cancer on the face of their great district, she’d heard one of the fisherman say once. she was seventeen. perhaps that was the reason she had no qualms about standing out. she did anyway. it was as if she were branded with a word across her forehead : hated.
‘ tougher is one way to describe it. ’ petra sighed. truthfully, she wasn’t sure her skin was tough anymore. it had been. physically of course, it was well & truly destroyed. most days she felt like her skin was either crawling or that it didn’t belong to her. guess she’d gotten used to it being that pale yellow colour it once was. as thalia continued to speak, petra raised an eyebrow, ‘ are we still talking about me here? ’
she was ever so grateful for the chance to switch the subject to thalia. petra hated talking about herself. tired of waiting for a drink, she grabbed an idle one someone had left on the table. taking a sip, she tilted her head, ‘ what’s up with you? ’
“I’m saying they don’t honor them at all,” she replied, “probably forgot all their names as soon as the newest Victor was crowned.” It really all was just a game to The Capitol. It wasn’t their kids they were sending into the Arena, so why should they care? Harlow had kept her own tone low, knowing better than to voice her opinions for everyone else to hear. They may have taken more than everything from her, but The Capitol found their ways to make her life even more miserable.
“Right,” she agreed with a nod, looking back at Petra. “heaven forbid we bring down the mood during the festivities. What would Snow think.” Her tone held little concern over the thought, but Harlow left the topic at that. “Have you had a chance to talk to Jules yet?”
‘ OH, RIGHT. ’ petra nodded, understanding exactly what harlow was saying. though she too was guilty of not knowing the names of tributes, even the ones from her own games. she had her reasons. petra kept those thoughts inside. she was grateful that the other seemed to pick up on her low voice. though she wanted to move on, swiftly. her thoughts were racing & her palms were beginning to sweat. paranoia ... her old friend.
‘ i think snow would be ... i don’t know. ’ she stopped herself from venting. ‘ & no, i haven’t. she’s pretty busy from what i see. ’
Petra had a point. Not that Harlow forgot about the kids that died in the past Games, how could she? Harlow took another drink from her glass. She hated the Victory Ball, hated any sort of celebration of The Games. But they were all forced to be there, having to deal with the festivities and party despite the fact that there were people back home still dealing with losing their son or daughter, and not just in Five.
“Too many people celebrating for it to be a wake,” she murmured, looking out toward the crowd of people in the room. She remembered how much she loathed being at the Victory Ball for the 70th Games– at least what she could recall after she tried drinking the bar dry. “Besides, I don’t think they know the definition of ‘grief’ for there to be anything to honor the dead in any way.”
‘ THIS IS HONOURABLE? ’ she raised an eyebrow, her voice low. six months ago, petra would’ve screamed her thoughts form the rooftop. but now --- they were watching her. so she cowered behind whispers . the capitol did not honour the dead. they handed them back to the districts to deal with. yes, maybe they did cover up the wounds. however those wounds came from their hands. stop it petra! what if they can read your thoughts?
‘ i haven’t heard anyone mention a name other than jules. ’ she shrugged, her voice still just above a whisper. ‘ that would probably spoil the mood though. best not.’
Lincoln’s brow furrowed in concentration as he assessed Petra’s attire. The young Victor took in her deathly appearance, though her words confirmed his suspicions. He felt a lump rising in his throat, but he quickly pushed it back down. Perhaps Petra dressed to represent the idea of a dead tribute, not a particular one. The notion turned his stomach, but he kept his composure in front of the various Capitolites in the ballroom.
“Clever.” He responded, unsure what to make of Petra Vikander. They had few interactions between his time as a tribute and year as a mentor. “Sponsor Weekly’s are going to have a lot to say about that tomorrow.” Lincoln smirked lightly, attempting to erase the images of dead tributes from his mind. “ ‘Course they’ll spin it in a way that works for the Capitol.”
‘ THANKS. ’ her lips formed into a half smile, which was as big a smile as most people could expect from petra --- unless she was saying something twisted. she supposed wearing this outfit could be considered twisted. what was she thinking? people were looking at her. ‘ it’s not like i ever read anything they write. who cares? ’ ...she was starting to.
lincoln’s mention of the capitol caused petra to look over he shoulder, even though she knew there was a wall behind her. she clutched onto her right arm. easy girl, she calmed herself like a dog. ‘ probably. that’s one of the things they’re best at. ’ she paused, lowering her voice, ‘ i’m almost jealous of how they can make every bad situation into something good. ’
