Abel never praised the gamemakers for the arenas they produced, mainly because he felt it was extremely hypocritical, even if they weren’t responsible for the over all premise, but he had to admit, this one was pretty cool, even if he’d never say it aloud.
“You think aliens might appear at some point?” he asked, nodding to the screen for context.
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Viola looked at the screens. There were no images of Vix, and Viola had misplaced her tablet. She hoped the girl was alright, but Abel’s comments about aliens gave her pause.
Lysander Vultur was dead, and lyric didn’t know what to do with herself. both her kids were okay, but it was too early to send anything, and nobody wanted to talk to her about sending anything anyway.
so… she headed to viola’s room, eventually, after spending a good while playing video games on her phone, listening to the confusion. it wasn’t until the official confirmation that spurred her to seeking out her older friend. surely she’d know what to do.
“what’s the play?” she asked, quietly, as she opened the door. “what do we do?” there was nobody more loyal than viola, she’d have something in mind.
@viola-zephyr
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She was lying on her bed when Lyric found her. She’d stopped crying by that point, thank goodness, but she had taken to staring at the ceiling and dreaming of a world that didn’t exist - one where they didn’t kill kids twice a year, where there weren’t rebellions or evil regimes, and where everyone was happy and safe. Viola rolled over so that she could face the door where Lyric was standing.
“Nothing we can do, kid,” she said, softly, after a moment. “Didn’t you see the news? They arrested Jeannie. It’s over.” It was over, and her friend was dead. Dead at the hand of a girl she’d indirectly killed Lyric’s father to protect.
The tablet screen shattered when it hit the floor, but Viola couldn’t move to pick it up. Her hands had stopped working, her entire body rigid as she watched the scene unfold on the screen before her. She didn’t care about Ollie or Vix in that moment. She couldn’t care about them. There was no room for them, not when Lysander Vultur’s blood speckled the camera feed in front of her.
Was a rebellion starting again? Was this recompense for Thirteen’s reaping? Was Lysander the ultimate target, or was this bomb part of a larger plan or action, or meant to be some sort of catalyst for inspiration? How would this affect the current Games? Who would be the new Head Gamemaker?
On the other screen in the viewing room came a tick, tick, tick of a wordless countdown. In the silence between ticks were memories of body parts strewn across an ice rink. They’d been Careers. They’d been teenagers. There’d been a tick, tick, tick then too, but the bomb had gone off after, not before.
The Arena was in space, Viola realized as she remembered where she was. Actual space, above the earth. It was truly an accomplishment, more grandiose than any Arena Viola had ever seen. Lysander must be so pleased with his work.
Must have been. Past tense.
Lysander was dead.
Viola had loved him. Not romantically, but in the way that nearly three decades of knowing someone would endear a person to them. If he was to live in her memories now, then he was to exist both as the man she’d spoken with the other day and the kid she’d babysat when she was seventeen, up past his bedtime. He hadn’t been burdened by legacy, then, but neither had she, not yet. That would come later, for each of them on their own time, though still in each other’s orbit. Lysander was a constant in her life in the way few others were. But consistency was the true confidence trick of life, Viola supposed.
Everyone Viola loved had died in one way or another, subjected not to the cruel hand of fate but to the cruel hand of humanity. She wished to whatever God or Gods might be listening that for once she could be numb to death, numb to the necrotizing beat of her broken heart. But Viola would never be so lucky.
Ollie was dead by the time Viola finally moved to pick up her tablet. Flatlined vitals glared at her behind fractaled glass. She could add another body to the list of the people she didn’t save. And who would be next? Vix, certainly, but afterward, if this was another rebellion, who would be targets? Who would be innocent casualties?
It was Viola’s own fault. She typically kept her ear to the ground for stirrings of rebellion, but she had been so caught up in her own sorrows about Harley, a girl she’d barely known, that she hadn’t paid attention. If she’d been listening, perhaps she could have involved herself, adjusted the plans, let the horrors of the rebels’ plans broadcast to every home but without the deaths that accompanied them. Or perhaps with deaths, but not Lysander’s. It never should have been Lysander’s.
Bile had risen into Viola’s throat like the tide of grief rising in her chest, keeping her breathing staggered and her vision shifting in and out of focus. She swallowed it down.
It had been a minute since Viola’s fight or flight response had kicked in with the latter option. She hadn’t felt the urge to run this strongly since she stood in Citra Odell’s home as the women learned that Lyric’s father was dead. Citra had been calm, putting all of her grief aside in that moment to put her children first. It was exactly what Viola would have done, and she’d fought every instinct, every twitch of muscle or acceleration of pulse, to be able to stay and help. But Viola had had guilt to ground her then. She had none to ground her now.
She put down the tablet on a nearby table, and left the viewing room.
Down the hall, third corridor, make a right. Then a left. Pass Capitol Coffee, another left. Viola kept moving. Motion was finally allowing her breath to even out. Motion was taking her to safety. If she was in motion, she was less likely to be a target if an attack came for her next.
She was out the door of the Tower when that particular thought hit her, and she stopped dead in her tracks. Well, not dead. Lysander was dead. She was still very much alive.
The twins. Viola needed to find the twins. If the rebels were bold enough to attack those directly involved in supporting the Games, there was every possibility that they’d attack the families of the loyalists as well. Viola hadn’t gotten involved in whatever this rebellion was. She hadn’t known. And so they had no way of knowing that she would do everything in her power to take down Battenberg if she could. Well, everything except kill Lysander. But that didn’t matter, because Lysander was dead. Lysander was dead, but the twins weren’t, and she needed to make sure they got to safety.
Viola kept moving. There were very few people on the streets with her, and those that were seemed in just as much of a hurry to get to their loved ones. Viola didn’t have any trouble making her way through the city, headed far from the Tower to her townhouse.
Lights were flickering through the living room window - the television, most likely, being flicked back and forth between the two feeds, one of the Bloodbath and the other of the carnage of the bomb. Viola wondered if they’d wiped the blood off of the camera lens yet as she registered that the lights in the window meant that her children were home. Her children were watching.
Viola’s hand hovered over the knob, shaky and unsure. In this moment she didn’t know what was truth and what was fiction of the Games, of the Gamemakers, of the Capitol, or even of herself. And was it selfish of her to come here and let her children see her grieving but not be able to explain any of it, not truly?
They would comfort her through all of it, she knew. If she asked, they would be there for her, as she’d always been for them. But children weren’t supposed to be the ones comforting parents. Viola had promised nearly a decade ago that her children would never have to know anything but a mother who was happy and supportive and there for them. She lied to them every day, yes, but she never broke that promise, and she wouldn’t now.
Viola walked back down the steps of her townhouse and onto the sidewalk. Then, once again, she ran.
Slate jumped a little when he was run into, but brushed it off easily. “Yeah, yeah, seems like this place just gets more and more crowded every day. On your way to the bar?”
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Viola nodded. “Less crowded soon,” she said. Cruel, but factually correct. “Can I get you a drink?” she asked. “Assuming you’re also going to the bar?” She wasn’t sure how he would guess her destination if he wasn’t also on his way there, but as her daughter liked to constantly remind her, she had no idea what it was like to be a teenager these days. Who knew what was going on in any of their heads?
This Arena isn’t going to be like the 128th Games or 129th - especially not the 129th. For this Arena Viola will just...do her job. She will hype up Vix and Ollie and try to get sponsor funds for them. She’s an actress. She’ll be able to pull that off even though she doesn’t have hope that either of them will survive.
You're an '80s kid at heart. You belong in the decade where Michael Jackson first showed off the moonwalk, Michael Jordan played for the Bulls, MTV reached its heyday, and you blasted U2 and Guns N' Roses on your walkman.
No offense but you can be a bit scattered and all over the place. It can feel like you're just walking in circles (well you kinda are) and you can't seem to get a hold of life. But in reality, you're in control, you're deciding to not have a plan and that's okay! Who says everyone has to lead the same ordinary life? you'd rather see where things go, adapt to the circumstances handed to you. You're quirky and we like that, you can go your own way *fleetwood mac pun if not already obvious*
Viola didn't like to drink during the days before the Games. She was always worried that if she did, she would miss something vital, that her lack of clarity would get her tributes killed. But she didn't have much hope for them anyway, and she had nothing to do until the skills presentations were over, so she headed in the direction of the bar. She was nearly there when her shoulder connected with someone going the opposite direction.
"Oh, sorry about that!" Viola said immediately, whirling around to face whomever she had just walked into. "Are you good?"
“I’m not fucking hitting you— it’s a stupid fucking exercise” Vix said, anger seething through her words before she turned to walk away.
Viola sighed angrily. This was far from her first tribute who refused to fight, but her composure wasn’t so even these Games. She grabbed Vix’s wrist to stop her from leaving and took another step into her space so they were mere inches apart. “If you don’t fight, you die,” Viola hissed. She released Vix’s wrist, but stayed, glaring, right where she was.
Vix raised a brow at a Viola, because she didn’t count fighting a simulation as real experience and she was about to voice her opinion when she was told to hit her. “What?” She stumbled, shaking her head. “I’m not hitting you— that’s ridiculous”
Viola took a step further into Vix's space. "Im here to teach you to hold you own out there. That mwans fighting. You just fought that simulation and held your own. You've got this. Come on." She patted her shoulder again.
Lysander sighed. By this point, he’s had so many conversations in the Tower that he knew, from all angles, how it looked like, where his logical limitations were, how come his alignment tilted heavily towards the Capitol still, despite being a reasonable person with no particular blood-thirst. But it was simple. The known evil, masterful and flashy and organized and by the rules. He’d always prefer that to rebellion, to uncontrolled bloodshed, to the sort of Panem that would be without the pressure and the restrictions of the Games.
He passingly reviewed all that in his mind before shrugging – and it looked like defeat, if anything. “Dedication.” It was his lifelong project. He grew up watching his grandfather in the same chair he was in now, at almost forty years old. It was dedication through and through, past right and wrong, past kindness and cruelty. And he did think he went on about it fairly absolutely all of the time when he could help it. The shrug repeated itself. “Silly, but I’ve always thought of it as inheritance, as a genetic leaning towards Gamemaking. It’s what I was born to do, and so I do it. Not much to be proud of, per se, and I’m not contributing to the positive aspects of our society, but somebody needs to do this, too, and I’m glad it’s me. There are many ways to kill children, and it’s easy to get corrupted. I believe it is and was my meaning to do it as fairly and objectively as possible.”
Viola's shoulders relaxed as he spoke. She hasn't even realized she'd kept them tense, fully prepared to turn on an agreeable actress face at whatever answer Lysander could give. This answer though...she understood it, at least. That surprised her. It was the same reason she kept coming back to the Tower every six months, or nearly was. The kids were going to die. The hope for the people involved to be responsible, to make the process as...painless as possible, she supposed. Their positions were different, and he had far more of a hand in the fates of the children than she ever would, but she could see his point of view, and that was honestly more than she'd thought she would be able to see.
"Dedication," she repeated. "Yeah, I can see that." Viola gave Lysander a small smile.
TASK 005. THE APPLE DOESN’T FALL FAR FROM THE TREE
Ryder and Rosaline Zephyr were doting, wonderful parents. The Zephyrs were an incredibly tight-knit family, and they were happy together. Were is the operative term here. Everything changed after Viola came home after she won the Games. Her father left within a year, got himself a new family, and never looked back. Her mother fell into a morphling addiction that Viola refused to support. Viola left for the Capitol and never looked back. She looks them up every so often to make sure they are both still alive, but she hasn’t seen them in nearly 30 years.
“I don’t know” Vix shrugged honestly. “I’ve never really been in a fight, I try my best to stay away from trouble” she admitted, because Viola was on her team, she had her back, right?
Viola shrugged, and took a step closer to Vix. “Today you’ll be able to say you have,” she said. She rolled her shoulders and then patted the right one. “Hit me right here. Best you got. Come on.”
Proud was a bitter word. Lysander wondered if he’d ever be able to explain it, to reach for that impalpable spot in his throat that made sense of it all. More likely, he’d die trying to phrase a satisfying definition. Even more likely, there was no excuse for the blood on his hands. A shrug raised his shoulders, like electroshock. There wasn’t much to say about it, other than the obvious and other than the sort of apology-shaped observations he refused to materialize, ever. “Let’s use smaller words. This is not a pride thing.”
Lysander still managed to surprise her sometimes. "Alright," Viola replied, and sat up a little. "If not pride, what's a good word for it? 'Sense of accomplishment' is certainly longer, but does that fit?" She watched him carefully, trying to figure out where he was going with this.
Be smart. Did Viola know Vix had left school before she could ever be considered smart? She moved on from that, weighing up her next question. “I’ve got good aim— and I guess when I put my mind to something, I won’t stop until it’s done”
"That's good," Viola said with a nod. It would make her easier to train than the more reluctant tributes, at least. "When most people say aim, they mean throwing things from a range. How's your aim in close combat?"
“Thanks,” Auri said as Viola brought the coffees over. “I don’t know,” she sighed. She was predicting a longer Games in general, but there was no way to know that for sure if that would be true or how long their tributes would live if it was. “They seem tough,” she chewed over the thought. “And Vix has a lot to get home to.” She glanced reflexively down at Miles. She couldn’t imagine the torture Vix was going through being away from her daughter right now. “Something to fight for makes a big difference, but it’s not going to be easy.” She didn’t have to tell Viola. They both knew how hard it was.
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Viola smiled at the kid in Auri's lap. She knew how hard Auri would fight for him, and she knew how hard she would fight for her own kids, even though they were fully grown at this point and could fight their own battles. "Vix has a lot of perseverance, that much is obvious," Viola noted. "And she'll get the sponsors, being a mom, but she's a tough nut to crack, so we should plan for her going through this solo rather than with allies." She'd have to watch Ollie a little closer to figure out if he was planning on having allies or not.
