#scvrredsouls

two crystal glasses fill her palms as annie makes her way around the gala. the cups have a weight to them, entirely too decadent for a party. and still, they littered the room. music and chatter drown out her own thoughts. it’s a temporary blessing. the victor has never faired well returning to the capitol. her trips have been sporadic and short, never totaling more than thirty-six hours at a time. ideally, the brunette could have skipped the festivities of the quarter quell entirely. it has never been wise to decline an invitation from the president though.    

it takes a few minutes but soon she sees a friendly face ; polly lovelace was one of the few positives when it came to visiting the capitol. a genuine smile spreads across her lips as she strides over. “ are we people watching ? ” it’s hardly a greeting ; yet with the implication of we, she’s inviting herself to polly’s company. she extends an arm out before wordlessly offering the second cocktail to her friend. ( feels like a bribe ! ) annie cresta has never had the knack for keeping busy by dazzling the room, after all.    

Traveling over a hundred miles an hour, a train swept through an expanse of verdant trees toward the bustling metropolis that was the Capitol. Inside, two strangers were hunched over in contemplative defeat. Their surroundings, platters of amuse-bouche and bottles of liquor swirling with gold leaf, a stark contrast to their demeanor. Like winning a jackpot and still claiming to be a loser.

After the life-changing event that had just transpired at the reaping, a well-composed man marched into the boxcar. Aloysius Rand was out of his element; known to everyone but himself. Taking a place in front of the tributes, he folded his arms and shifted his shoulders as if uncomfortable in his own skin. He took the present situation too seriously for his appearance, donning a male-peacock-flashing-its-feathers equivalent to a Peacekeeper uniform. The previous Hunger Games was enough of an eye-opener to the stakes. Blamed on a lack of experience, he refused to allow his second year acting as the escort for District 3 to end in failure.

“Let’s skip pleasantries and cut straight to the point. I’m Aloysius, your escort. I am here to help you win the favor of the Capitol. What happens after, at the arena, is down to you.”

Stating the obvious was a means to awaken them to the reality of the situation. Whether reality sinking in ignited or snuffed hope was a slippery slope. He figured it was better than feeling nothing at all. Still, he tried to teeter the atmosphere to the former.

“Now, I know you two are smart. That’s our angle. Promise innovation. Stratagem. Handmade explosives. Use your cunning right, you’ll get the attention of sponsors.”

No air of remorse to his terseness, he had wasted too much time the year before making light conversation. The anecdotes he shared resulted in nothing but scared kids playing gladiator. His only goal was to give his current tributes a fighting chance. When his attempt at rousing morale merely led to the two of them adjusting themselves in their seats, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“At least start by believing you can make it through this. Hell, you could be the next Polymira Lovelace,” he said, finally addressing the mentor in the room. He pointed his thumb in her direction.

play nice with the careers, it’s advice from her mentor. ( it’s been too short of a time for it not to be bizarre to associate her sister with that role. ) maize wonders if such direction even has merit. the quarter quell called for much older sacrifices this year. people from career districts were hardly spry and fresh from the academies. if the older thornlocke twin really had her best interest at heart though, she would never let maize do the schmoozing. capitolite might be her sibling’s second language but she was fluent ; maize was not. 

still, she found herself riffling through mental notes. on the train ride from nine, the brunette had watched the reapings from the other districts. two volunteers ... how interesting. scarlett taylor stayed fresh on her mind. it’s seldom to hear of someone from eight doing so. aurelian rust surprised her less. he was something of a legacy, maize had been informed. still as she sees him nearby, she’s trying to recall whether he was from one, two, or four. 

butter people up, pretend to care, play nice with the careers: it’s all guidance from her sister. hopefully maize’s face or tone don’t give her away. ( though she wonders why she should even care, since she has a death sentence. ) “ it’s incredibly brave to volunteer for the games      did you know the man who was originally reaped ? ” 

​​word of mouth was a gift that beetee never received. he never cared to talk to merely hear his own voice nor did promise of potential seem to regularly sway sponsors towards district three tributes. he found a consistent pattern: tributes showing their mastery on the field, sponsors swiftly singing a different tune once a bet no longer seemed to be a loss, & their disappointment next games when a tribute from three lacked similar dexterity. in his years as a mentor, beetee always tried to do right by his tributes. the truth remained: district three tributes rarely return home. 

last year, the male tribute attempted to be on the favorable side of the careers to no true avail. it was hardly reflective of the strategy that the sixty-fourth victor implemented. speaking of, he was soon approaching polly. “ have any success doing laps ? ” he asked curiously. for all he knew, lovelace could have been glued to this same spot the entirety of the party. beetee wouldn’t blame her. ( it’s exhausting playing nice with capitolies. ) “ cecil langmoore and sterling boone have expressed interest in sponsoring. the latter had the stipulation of waiting to see training scores. ” they were a couple who seemed to take a liking to the third district, as well as an underdog. maybe it cleared their conscious, a hard reset. they’d become regulars. otherwise, it’s been too dry tonight.