#thread. soleil

So, apparently the rebels were only capable of postponing the games for a day – which Soleil was pissed about. A day? Were they fucking kidding? What good was a day going to do, in the grand scheme of things? If anything, postponing the games had only made things worse – because now the Capitol was angry and the tributes had been thrown off and the sponsors didn't seem quite so willing to fork over their cash when the games were still marred by a sense of uncertainty. Plus, Soleil had to say goodbye to the people who had become as good as family twice – and one mushy, sentimental farewell was already one too many for her.

So, yeah, by the time the actual launch rolled around and Soleil settled themself in one of the comfortable viewing chairs with a bowl of popcorn and frayed nerves, they were pissed off. And it was probably written across their face, too – as they scowled at the screen and waited for the coverage of the arena to begin. The volume was down low to allow the various sponsors and other annoying Capitol creatures to hear one another squawking about their outfits and their jewellery and their penthouses, and so when the live feed finally starts, Soleil has to strain to just barely make out what Caesar is saying. This normally wouldn't be a problem, except for the fact that, the moment the tributes are raised into the arena, Soleil notices that something is wrong. Where the fuck are Lark and Joule?

Soleil had elected to wait out the countdown to the launch from the confines of her bedroom. Not because she didn't care to see Finch and Amp and Joule and Lark off – but because doing so would probably kill her. She didn't think she could handle another goodbye – another mushy, sentimental farewell – and so she'd lingered back. Waited for the familiar sound of the elevator ding – signalling that they were gone and she was well and truly alone, perhaps for the rest of her life. But, that ding never came. Neither did the launch – instead an important announcement started to blare over the speakers, informing Soleil that the games had been postponed.

She wasn't sure whether she was supposed to feel elated or apprehensive, so she settled on a healthy mixture of both. Another twenty-four hours, at least, to figure out a way out of this mess. Another twenty-four hours to try and stop these games from happening altogether.

The backstage dressing areas of the CAESAR FLICKERMAN SHOW were surprisingly nice. Soleil was fairly certain she was supposed to be sitting in the audience, clapping and gawking and smiling politely at each and every tribute that walked on stage – but, honestly, she couldn't think of anything worse. So her seat had remained vacant since the lights had gone down – and Soleil had been roaming around backstage as if she owned the joint. Nobody had thought to question her presence yet – TV people were running around like headless chickens, and the escorts stylists were doing the same. Nobody had the time to usher out a lost victor.

She'd managed to secure herself an empty dressing room and a bowl of chips ( brightly coloured... she doesn't want to think about what the fuck has been put in them ) – feet up on the makeup table, as she watches the interviews from a small screen that has been mounted in the corner. They swivel to face the door when they hear it open, but make no effort to remove their feet from the table. "Shit," They mutter instead, offering NILANI a half-hearted wave. This must be her change room – no wonder it was empty while the woman was on stage.

Were they not the one in charge of securing sponsors for Ampere and Finch, Soleil would have thoroughly enjoyed the shit they'd both managed to pull on stage this evening. Apparently, she'd rubbed off on her former mentors more than she'd thought. Unfortunately, however, their brazenness has set Soleil's strategy ( get money ) a few steps back.

The few sponsors they'd attempted to speak to at this half-hearted after party had been fairly reluctant to fork over their hard-earned dollars to a pair of victors who seemed hellbent on getting themselves killed before the countdown even began. Plus, Soleil's own shiny personality wasn't working, no matter how much she tried to sugarcoat her vitriol with forced smiles.

"If it isn't my star tribute," After her conversation with Finch, Soleil had sought out Ampere immediately. Star tribute, was, unfortunately, not much of an exaggeration. Despite Amp's comments, Finch's interview had been exponentially worse. Maybe it was a little selfish of Soleil to expect that Ampere would have the presence of mind that both she and Finch clearly lacked – the ability to perform damage control for their district, rather than add fuel to the proverbial fire. But they couldn't find it in themself to be angry at them – were the roles reversed, Soleil probably would have decked Caesar. Now that would have made good television.

Soleil generally hated their time in the Capitol – being clamoured over by ditzy Capitolites who had once wished for their downfall, feeling the eyes of President Snow and his goons on them at all times like a bug under a microscope, being dressed up and paraded about like a doll. They hated it, yes, but over time they'd come to accept it. The less of an outright nuisance they made themselves, the more they would simply be left to their own devices. It wasn't as though they were a particularly popular victor, after all – they'd found that, as long as the vitriol that was constantly spat from their tongue wasn't openly antagonistic towards the Capitol, then they could fly under the radar.

It was a fine line they walked – balancing between abrasive and outright treasonous.

This year, of course, was different. Normally, Soleil found it very easy not to become attached to her tributes – she could watch them go off and die without much emotion, having already used up her lifetime allotment of grief. This year, however, had come with grief built in. They'd never really planned on becoming attached to their fellow victors, to their families – but nonetheless, over time, and against their better judgement, it had happened. They should have known that the Capitol wouldn't let them hold on to anything good for too long without viciously ripping it from their hands. Life is, and always has been, exceptionally cruel.

They're upset, yes, but mostly, Soleil is angry. It wasn't supposed to go like this – if anyone was going to be sent back into the arena, sent to die, it should have been her. There's nobody left who needs her, not really – nobody who would miss her that terribly. Not like people would miss Finch, or Ampere, or Lark, or Joule. And yet, of all of them, she is the only one who will be guaranteed to remain at the end of all this. It all seemed ferociously unfair – so, yes, she was furious. But she'd also never been much of a problem solver. Or someone to deal with their emotions in a healthy way.