#thread. hermes

Hermes had always hated the tribute interviews. No, actually, this isn't true. They'd enjoyed their own interview – when they were entirely in control of the narrative, where they could pander to the audience and secure their own popularity ( and, by extension, success ) in the arena. In the years since, Hermes had come to hate the tradition. Their tributes generally didn't present well ( save for a select handful ), and they couldn't help but feel completely useless, standing on the sidelines and watching them flounder. Tonight was a little easier – Volt and Nilani were pros, but Hita and Elianna were not – and so we find Hermes nervously pacing up and down behind the stage, chewing on their nails.

NILANI had just exited the stage – polished and perfect, as always, she could be counted on to give the crowd a show. "Mm," Hermes hums, continuing his pacing, unaware of any other eyes that might be on him. "Good, good. I can work with that. Might tell her to ramp up the sun and moon shit, that'll play well..." He continues talking to himself – something he'd done since childhood, but that had only become more pronounced in adulthood. It was easy to forget that other people could actually hear when he did this, when the two most important people in his life did not.

Two twelves. A perfect score was exceedingly rare for anybody – but for District Three? Practically unheard of. They're not a fool, of course – they know that Volt and Nilani's perfect scores weren't as altruistic as the gamemakers might want them to believe. They're a warning – a twin pair of targets painted on their backs. It was setting Hermes on edge – ensuring he had his work cut out for him when it came to getting them out of the arena. He'd been lucky enough to do so once, but he doesn't think he can count on something so trivial as luck again.

He finds IO not long after the scores are announced. He doesn't like to stray too far from his wife's side at events like these, anyway – the both of them feeling much mere comfortable with their hands interlaced. They tap her on the shoulder to grab her attention, finding her hovering around the edge of the room. "My love", Hermes mouths, offering her a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. He stares at her for a moment – she looks ethereal tonight, and even after all these years, he finds it difficult not to be swept up in her beauty. Her deep, dark eyes, which had once held so much contempt towards him, now warm and soft. He can almost tell what she's thinking just by gazing into them.

After what feels like an absolute eternity, the inhabitants of the tower lobby are informed that they can return to their floors and go about their business. Hermes had never liked standing in one place for very long, and had quickly become antsy in the lobby of the tower – insisting that, if they let him, he could have the elevators fixed in less than five minutes. The peacekeepers, of course, had been less than receptive towards this suggestion. By the time they finally find themself back on the third floor, the clock is rapidly encroaching on midnight.

Io had ushered Solara to her bedroom, leaving Hermes to his own devices in the living room. He's about to consider going to bed himself ( though he still feels a little too wired to go to sleep – this always happened the night before the games, and was only heightened by the stakes this year ), when he hears the elevator ding again – looking up from where he is sprawled across the couch to see VOLTAIRE step onto the third floor.

Getting sponsors for DISTRICT THREE was always something of an uphill battle. Their tributes generally didn't have the blood thirst or the training of the career districts, nor did they have the survival skills of some of the lower districts. They generally had smarts, but this wasn't exactly unique, and it also wasn't much of a selling point to the Capitol. They wanted a show, and electrocuting half the arena at once wasn't the spectacle they wanted to pay for ( sorry, Beetee ). Hermes had known this during his games, and he'd made a point of selling himself to the Capitolites – making a big fuss of what an excellent performance he'd put on. It had worked, and he'd been trying to utilise the same strategy ever since.

This year, of course, was decidedly more difficult. Sure, the sponsors were already familiar with Nilani and Volt's skillsets. They had both already proven that they had what it took to win the games – but so had half the tributes. The arena would be filled with seasoned killers. Even worse, seasoned killers with family members to protect. It was a recipe for good television, sure, but it was making Hermes' quest to find sponsors an incredibly arduous task. Nevertheless, they persisted. They had just managed to extract themselves from a particularly awful conversation with a man who had dyed his hair the most off-putting shade of green imaginable. In the end, he'd agreed to throw in a little money for Nilani, but, overall, the conversation had not been worth Hermes' time.

This year's games are different than any of the others Hermes has had the misfortune of bearing witness to. Since he'd won his games, he'd grown accustomed to meeting the tributes, training them as best he could, and, except in two rare cases, watching them die. He hated it – god, did he hate it – but he'd managed to become somewhat used to it. He had the uncanny ability to detach himself from the gravity of the situation – to train the tributes, but never get too close. It had saved him from more than one nervous breakdown, and countless hours of agonising over things he couldn't do much to change. Because, the truth was, he didn't know his tributes. Not really. Not beyond the surface – beyond scared kids who had been handed a death sentence.

This year was different. Not only did Hermes know their tributes – they were family. They were victors he had already worked so hard to bring home once, only to watch them have to go into the arena again. Worse than that, to go in with their family. Even worse than that, there was the insidious knowledge that it could have been him rather than them. That there was a sense of relief that followed Nilani and Volt's family being chosen, rather than his own. That meant Solara was safe. Now, he had to watch his fellow victors march back to their deaths, all the while knowing he and his family were ( relatively, this is the Capitol, of course ) safe and unharmed. They're not sure whether to feel guilty or relieved.

The tribute ball had been... kind of a shit show. Not that Hermes had expected any differently. There was always going to be an element of risk when throwing a large party for a group of people who knew they were going to be dead in a few days, anyway. People could drink to excess, or make reckless decisions, or die. Pinning the deaths on 'rebel activity' ( whatever that meant ) seemed a little tasteless, but Hermes had to admire the ingenuity. No better way to keep the loyalists on-side than by convincing them that the opposition were savage, bloodthirsty murderers, right? It was a setback – but hopefully a minor one.

It is not uncommon to find Hermes on the fourth floor of the tower. For one thing, it had a slightly better view than the third floor. For another, their wife was generally attached to the hip of one of their victors for the duration of their time in the Capitol. A third reason is that their daughter now seems annoyingly infatuated with the son of said victor. And said victor's son and husband are heading into a bloody death match in a few days. And Hermes happened to also be friends with said victor and her husband, and quite fond of their son ( even if he is a bad influence on Solara ), which happened to put them in a rather difficult position. Which, they assume, was probably the plan all along when the Capitol allowed victors to volunteer with their families.

Say what you would, but they're creative when it comes to quashing rebellions.

They arrive on the fourth floor with a pair of hot chocolates, unsurprised to find Annie alone. Training will have already started, and Finnick was hardly one to sit still for very long. He had been trying to come up with the right words to say to Annie since arriving in the Capitol. Beyond the bluster and the bravado that he'd always presented to the Capitol, Hermes wasn't particularly good at connecting with people, at comfort. All he knows is, that if he were in Annie's position, he would be going out of his mind. He'd be full of rage and fear and sorrow and other unnameable things. He'd be screaming about the indignity of it all, the injustice. He'd be trying to weasel his way out of things. But Annie isn't Hermes.

Hermes had never particularly enjoyed Capitol parties. Sure, he could put on a smile and charm the masses like the best of them, but these sorts of things were certainly not his favourite past time. Probably because of the excess of Capitolites, wanting to pick his brain about things that were far below his pay grade – but Capitolites he had to indulge nonetheless, with a polite smile and a slight tone down on the snark.

Tonight was no exception. In fact, tonight might be one of the worst events he'd had the displeasure of attending. Not only did he have to be on his very best behaviour to win over sponsors for not two, but four tributes – but Hermes also had to shove aside his anger and sorrow at the fact that two of the tributes he'd already worked so hard to bring home were being sent back into the arena. That he had to face the prospect of saying goodbye to two people who had become family, and send them off to what would more than likely be their deaths.

When the scores were announced, Hermes was furious. A twelve was near-impossible. For District Three? Practically unheard of. For two of their tributes to receive the score? It was a warning. Targets painted clearly on Volt and Nilani's backs – signalling to them and to everybody else that District Three's chances of winning the games were slim, and that the Capitol would do whatever they could to prevent it. So, by the time they manage to find VOLTAIRE in the crowd, they're pissed, but they do their best to swallow their anger. They're sure Volt is smart enough to be thinking the same thing they are.