#avox

"Uh... well I started working here a little while ago... can't really remember anything else..."

Trigger warning: System of slavery, brainwashing ... Just focus on the economic and social systems,

"Avoxes aren't castrated but their descendants no matter how far removed from the crime that led to Avoxing become brainwashed slaves, a capitolite working class. If they are experimented on, the experiments are more lenient in the first place, and they do their "patriotic duty." Tongued Avoxes no matter they are looked upon for their ancestors' crimes, wearing distinctive clothing, they know their work is valued, and they are better than the richest district man. In the first and 2nd rebellions, they were called up to war against the districts. Any rebellious sentiment among tongued avoxes is punished far more seriously than even the districts. informants lead to their capture, and anyone who tries to stop repenting is never seen again. They disappear to a black site without explanation." (quoted from mutt's worth timeline)

Often the clothing of avoxes is ornamental like high status slaves.

They are named by their capitolite masters, having numbers, plus name of estate. Avoxes no matter removed from their original sin are banned from owning property. Housing is provided by the capitol, looking like soviet housing.

Soldiers and descendants of soldiers are given preferential treatment to those who didn't serve in capitol wars.

They are paid in a currency that works among hereditary avoxes. The upbringing of young avoxes is a major concern, the state takes over their education unless parents are trusted to give a capitol compliant education. Untrustworthy Avoxes are not allowed to raise their children, having children is mandatory, and in sufficiently indoctrinated couples need little incentive.

More than not they are capitolite, but capitolite avox lineages are preferable to non capitolite avoxes, and arrainged marraiges try to sublimate the non capitolite blood into the capitolite lines.

They are paid in a Piece-rate system and for the capitol to provide food, water, shelter, and education, higher teir avoxes are paid in script similar to seam miners

Tunged Avoxes usually deployed outside district boundaries in labor centers like Alaska, and Mammoth alongside performing vital economic functions in the capitol itself.

Complex social norms exist for interactions with non avox capitolites.

Okay, hear me out, what if every avox serving tributes has to serve the district where they got caught/are from originally/were around when they got caught? Thus serving as an extra punishment for said avox??

I'm doing a poll because the books don't tell us. I am of two minds about it. I feel like people from the Capitol are made Avoxes, and people from the Districts are just killed. But I am not sure if he is a special case just to upset Katniss.

But I also think the fact that his name is from the Persian Emperor and not a Roman name suggests he's NOT from the Capitol.

12: The Colours That You Bring

0. Description/characters/ playlist

Prologue: Tum

1: Not Afraid Of Anything In This World

2: Nothing You Could Throw At Me

3: The Letter

4: The Rest Is Silence

5: The Chosen

6: The Routine

7: A Decent Melody

8: A Song That I Could Sing

9: A Lesson In Tenderness

10: Bring On The Words

11: The Poet And His Poem

12: The Colours That You Bring

13: The Kiss, or; You’re A Light In Me Now

14: A Dance Or Two

taglist: @lokiostasis

The days following Silvia's departure to perform at the Plinth's house felt longer than usual. Tum found himself wandering the halls, his usual routine unchanged, but the stillness in the house had a different weight to it now. It was as if the absence of Silvia's presence made everything feel colder, more distant. He had grown accustomed to her kindness, to the way she made even the most mundane tasks feel a little lighter, and without her, the silence seemed to press down on him even harder.

At first, he tried not to think too much of it, to ignore the gnawing sensation in his chest whenever he saw her absence at mealtimes, or the thought of her performing for the Plinths while he remained here, invisible. Tum kept himself busy—too busy—and focused on his tasks, taking care of the Cardews and attending to the endless chores that filled his days. But as the days passed, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, a quiet ache he couldn't explain.

It was on the fifth night of her absence that Tum found himself unable to sleep. He lay in his small attic room, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts tangled in knots. He wanted to see Silvia, to know that she was okay, that she hadn't forgotten him, even if that wasn't realistic. He had learned, after all, that no one ever really stayed in his world. People came and went, and Tum was left to hold onto the silence that was his only true companion.

His heart leapt in his chest when he heard the soft, familiar sound of footsteps in the corridor outside. The door to his room creaked open slowly, and there, silhouetted by the dim light from the hallway, stood Silvia.

Her smile was soft and warm, the weariness of her recent work still evident in the slight droop of her shoulders, but there was tenderness in her eyes, almost secretive—that made Tum's heart skip a beat.

"Tum," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "I'm back. Just wanted to check on you."

Tum sat up immediately, his eyes wide, his heart racing. Silvia had never come into his room before, never entered his space, and yet now, here she was. Tum gestured for her to come in, and she stepped lightly inside, the door closing softly behind her.

Silvia took a moment to sit on the edge of his bed, her fingers nervously twisting in the hem of her dress. She looked at Tum, and for a long moment, neither of them said anything.

"I... I have some good news," she said finally, her voice steady but laced with an underlying excitement. "The Plinths... They've agreed to let you come work with us soon. As a butler. You'll be able to serve at their parties. You'll see, Tum, not all Capitol people are like the ones here. Strabo Plinth... he's different. He values the help, appreciates us. It's a chance for you to be seen. To be heard, even if it's just in a small way."

Tum blinked, processing the words. His mind raced. Was she saying that he would be working alongside her in the Plinths' house? Tum could barely comprehend it. It sounded like a dream, a fleeting idea that couldn't possibly be real. He didn't know what to say. The possibility of being recognized as something more than a mere servant—a nameless shadow—felt so distant, so impossible. He had been invisible for so long that even the thought of being seen was both thrilling and terrifying.

Before he could form a response, Silvia added, "You'll see. The Plinths aren't like the others. You'll be treated better there."

Her words were gentle, her tone reassuring. But Tum's mind was still caught in the whirlwind of thoughts, and he wasn't sure how to respond. Instead, he grabbed a scrap of paper from the bedside table, and with shaky hands, began to write a response.

"Thank you, Silvia. I don't deserve this."

He paused, unsure of what to say next, he handed her the note, and Silvia smiled, her eyes soft with understanding. She reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face before folding the note gently in her hands.

"But you're worth it," she said simply. "You're worth so much more than you realize."

Tum couldn't meet her gaze. He felt exposed somehow, as though everything he was—his silence, his loneliness, his fears—was laid bare in front of her. But before he could say anything more, he stood up abruptly, needing space, needing to be away from the intensity of the moment.

"I'll be right back," he mouthed, excusing himself to the restroom.

As he left the room, Silvia remained seated on his bed, her eyes lingering on the space where he had just been. She couldn't help but notice the small piece of paper that had slipped out from beneath his pillow, half hidden. Curiosity getting the better of her, she reached down and retrieved it, unfolding it carefully.

It was a haiku.

She read the words, her breath catching in her throat.

"A soft breeze, warm, 

Silvia's voice lights the night— 

Kindness in her eyes."

For a moment, Silvia simply stared at the paper, her fingers trembling slightly as she absorbed what she had just read. The realization struck her like a wave, and her heart skipped a beat. This poem—it was from Tum.

It was for her.

She pressed the paper against her chest, as if trying to hold onto the warmth of the moment. A soft smile tugged at her lips, a smile that felt both foreign and familiar, as if she had always known that Tum felt something for her, something deeper than mere friendship. She quickly tucked the paper back under the pillow, her heart racing, but she didn't know what to do with the feelings swirling inside her.

Before she could collect her thoughts, she heard Tum return, his footsteps approaching the room again. She quickly sat up, her breath steadying, as she turned toward him, trying to hide the flush of warmth that had spread across her face.

"Sorry about that," Tum mouthed, a bit flustered himself. He looked at her with his usual quiet intensity, his eyes not meeting hers fully. Silvia gave him a small, knowing smile.

"No need to apologize," she said gently, her voice soft. "It's good to take a break every now and then."

For a few moments, there was silence between them. But then, to Tum's surprise, Silvia stood up and reached toward him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Tum froze at first, the sensation of her small body pressed against his, her warmth seeping into him. He had never been this close to anyone before, and the sudden closeness made him acutely aware of every detail—the feel of her hands, the scent of her skin, the softness of her breath against his chest. His heart thudded in his chest, and he stiffened, unsure of how to react.

But Silvia didn't pull away. Instead, she hugged him tighter, whispering softly into his ear, "Goodnight, Tum."

Tum stood rigid for a moment, caught in the strange tenderness of the embrace, but as the warmth of her body lingered, he relaxed. He exhaled slowly, feeling a rush of conflicting emotions that he couldn't quite name. It wasn't a romantic embrace—he knew that—but it was something more than friendship, more than kindness. It was something he didn't have a name for, but he felt it all the same.

When she finally pulled away, Tum met her gaze, his face flushed but soft.

"Goodnight," he mouthed in return.

Silvia smiled, and with that, she left his room, leaving Tum standing in the silence once more, his thoughts racing, the haiku still tucked under his pillow.

—-

In the days that followed, the two of them fell into an easy rhythm. Tum helped Silvia whenever he could, in the kitchen or with any task she needed assistance with. She continued to teach him to read, and as they spent more time together, Tum found himself growing more comfortable in her presence, more at ease with the small moments of connection they shared.

They still communicated through short notes—Tum's handwriting becoming more fluid and confident with each passing day. Sometimes, Silvia would sneak him food from the kitchen, something extra, something sweet, and they would share it in the quiet corners of the house, their quiet laughter echoing in the silence of the night.

And though the world around them remained unchanged—cold, unforgiving, and silent—they had each other.

—-

The evening light filtered through the half-open window, casting soft shadows across Silvia's small room. The air smelled faintly of flour and spices, and the steady hum of the Capitol, distant yet persistent, filtered through the walls. Tum sat on the edge of the bed, his posture stiff, a habit ingrained from months of silent waiting. His hands gripped his notebook.

Silvia, with her wild, untamed hair and the gleam of mischief in her dark eyes, finished the last line of a poem. She had read aloud from an old, dog-eared book, her voice soft and melodic, as though she were weaving magic with every word. The poem was by Coleridge, Tum had gathered from the title. It was about the sea—vast, mysterious, and untamed. But all Tum could focus on was the rhythm of her voice, the way it seemed to dance and linger in the air, settling like a dream in his chest.

Silvia closed the book with a flourish, glancing over at him with a smile. "Well, Tum? What do you think?"

He flipped open his notebook and began to write. His words were carefully chosen, precise, as they always were. "The sea, always moving, restless. But I see you as a shore, grounded, waiting. Perhaps waiting for the waves to wash over you. But I can't decide if you're the sea or the shore." He paused, chewing on the end of his pen. He knew the metaphor was messy, but it was the best he could do. He handed the notebook to her.

She took it, her fingers brushing against his, and read his words. A small, quiet smile tugged at her lips. "You always make me feel like I'm more than just a cook, Tum. I'm a shore, waiting. I think I like that."

His heart stuttered in his chest, but he said nothing. She had always been kind to him, understanding his silence in a way no one else did. She'd never made him feel broken, only whole in ways he had never thought possible.

Silvia placed the notebook aside and patted the bed beside her. "Come here," she said, her voice playful. Tum hesitated for a moment, unsure of the invitation, but then he stood and moved to sit beside her. He noticed how close she was now, her warmth radiating through the space between them.

She grinned, a mischievous glint in her eye. From her apron pocket, she pulled out a pair of scissors and a small square of paper. "I'm going to show you something," she said.

Tum blinked, startled by how easily she had closed the distance between them. His heart raced, but he stayed still, watching her with quiet curiosity. His gaze dropped to her bare feet, which she casually placed on his lap. The unexpected gesture sent a jolt through him, his breath catching in his throat. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to move, a part of him wanting to stay in this strange, intimate moment.

Silvia didn't seem to notice his reaction. She was focused, her hands quick and sure as she cut the paper with a practiced ease. In moments, a small bear sat on her palm, its tiny limbs folded into place. She grinned up at him. "This is origami. It's the art of making things out of paper," she explained. "You can create more than just words with paper."

She handed the bear to him, and he held it gently in his hands, admiring the delicate folds. "What's the point?" he mouthed.

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "The point is to make something beautiful. To shape it with your hands, like you shape thoughts with your mind. You can create entire worlds from paper if you know how to fold it just right."

Before he could ask more, Silvia continued, her hands already at work on the next figure. She folded the paper with expert fingers, transforming it into a cat, then a monkey. Tum watched her hands move, each fold deliberate, purposeful. He was mesmerized by how she shaped the world with a simple sheet of paper.

"There," she said, presenting the three animals to him. "A bear, a cat, and a monkey. What do you think?"

Tum gave a small smile. "They're...alive, in a way," he mouthed, his fingers tracing the paper edges gently.

Silvia beamed at him, pleased by his reaction. "Now, let me show you how to make a dove." She started to fold another square of paper, the movements smooth and fluid. Tum watched her, then began to mimic her, trying to fold the paper as she had shown him. His first attempt was clumsy, the edges uneven, but Silvia didn't seem to mind. She guided his hands, gently correcting his mistakes.

Soon, Tum's dove was finished—barely recognizable but still somehow, it felt like his own creation. Silvia smiled at his attempt. "Not bad," she teased, though her eyes held a warmth that made his chest tighten.

She took both her dove and his in her hands, her fingers curling around the paper as she began to sing. The sound of her voice filled the room, raw and haunting as she began the song. Tum listened intently, trying to follow the lyrics of it, the words swimming in his mind.

"Who'll take the wings of a dove? 

Who'll take the wings of a dove?"

As she sang, she began to move the origami figures in her hands, making them dance. She held the bear high above her head, mimicking its movements as she sang:

"Who'll take the wings of a dove?"

Then, with a soft, playful gesture, she moved the cat across the bed, making it sway as though it were alive.

"And where did you go? 

Where did you go?"

Finally, she moved the monkey, hopping it across her lap in rhythm to the song.

"And when did you go? 

And when did you go?"

Tum's mind was racing. He followed her every movement, entranced by the way she brought the paper figures to life. Each step of the song seemed to pull him deeper into her world.

When she finished the song, Tum was quiet. He had enjoyed it, certainly, but there was something about it that lingered in his mind, something he couldn't quite grasp.

"That was beautiful," he wrote, "but... I don't understand it. The metaphors, the meaning behind it."

Silvia, who had been gazing at him with a faraway look in her eyes, finally smiled. She reached out and placed a hand on his arm. "Not everything that's written is meant to be taken literally, Tum. Sometimes, it's important to read between the lines to find the answer or to enjoy the secret."

Tum furrowed his brow, unsure if he understood. "So... what's the message of this song?"

Silvia's eyes softened, and for a long moment, she seemed to search his face, as though looking for something hidden there. Then, she leaned in, her voice low and intimate. "Do you often dream, Tum?"

He blinked, surprised by the question, his heart suddenly racing. Dream? He couldn't deny it. He had been dreaming of her for weeks. But he didn't dare speak it aloud. Instead, he answered the only way he knew how.

"At night? Yeah. I dream I can speak again. But that is surreal."

Silvia's lips curved upward in a knowing smile. "See? It's about the dream itself, Tum. They're surreal, and not everything has to be explained. You just take it for what it is."

There was a pause, the weight of her words sinking in. And then she added, almost in a whisper, as they stared into each other's eyes, "In my dreams, you can speak, too."

Tum's breath caught in his throat. He hadn't expected her to say that. He hadn't expected her to see him in that way. He swallowed and mouthed: "I do?"

She nodded slowly, her gaze never leaving his. "Yes."

Tum felt a strange flutter in his chest, his heart pounding louder in his ears. "And how does my voice sound?" he wrote, curious despite himself.

Silvia paused for a moment, her brow furrowing as if she were lost in the thought. Then, she answered, her voice distant but tender. "Deep but curious. Like someone who keeps to themselves, but when they speak, it's always meaningful."

A flush spread across Tum's face, and he looked away, embarrassed by how close her words had come to the truth. He couldn't speak, couldn't say the things he wanted to say. But it felt as if, in that moment, she had unlocked the words inside of him.

Silvia reached out and rubbed his shoulder gently. "But you still can do it. Just because they hurt you doesn't mean you can't find your voice. On paper. To me."

The words echoed in his mind as he looked back at her, his hand slowly, absentmindedly reaching for her foot, his fingertips grazing her ankle. He smiled softly, unable to express the depth of his feelings, but the connection between them felt undeniable.