ᴡʜᴏ: HERMES NEWTON & BASIL BLUE (@dissensiio) ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: TRIBUTE TOWER, LOUNGE ᴡʜᴇɴ: POST-TRIBUTE BALL
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 lounge they've chosen to attempt to come up with a game plan is relatively empty, save for one other occupant. BASIL BLUE, they recall. He'd won a few years before Hermes. They had a decent amount of respect for him – it was a shame he'd need to die for Hermes' Volt or Nilani to win. "Blue," They greet, sitting down in the chair opposite Basil. "Mind if I sit?" They haven't really offered much choice, already folding one leg over the other and sinking down into the chair. "Just needed somewhere quiet to, y'know," They tap the side of their head, "Get my ducks in a row. That's what they say in District Four." Probably. Okay, probably not.
