74th hunger games

Ox opened his fist against the wall to press his fingertips into the texture. The roughness soothed him for a moment. He turned and pressed his back against the wall. Crossing his arms across his chest, he sized up the man in front of him again. D12 had a small, retreating figure and a slouch that betrayed his insecurity. Ox only recognized it because he had it himself.

“Everyone Reaped is the unluckiest in their family, as are most of those who volunteer.” Luck seemed to have nothing to do with the Games, though the odds were ever in their favor. It was a shame - D12′s family had almost made it through. Four brothers, and they had almost made it through.

Oxford’s mind flashed back to the moment of Delta’s Reaping - how small she had seemed on that stage. Ox probably hadn’t - at his height, it was hard to look small anywhere. He silently regarded the man in front of him for a moment. His gaze was deep and sorrowful - and perhaps he stayed silent a bit too long. 

“No. My older sister was Reaped a few years back. Didn’t last long. If I don’t make it back, my parents will have lost half their children to the Games. I’m one of four as well.” Another deep breath. Breath in, breath out. “What the hell are we supposed to do?”

the sound of his fist against the wall sliced though the air and made jules bite his lip - hard. he was too focused on the tribute in front of him to notice he had drawn blood, the bitter taste on the tip of his tongue. for a moment he tried to make himself bigger, straightening his back, and puffing out his chest. an attempt at intimidation, which obviously fell short. he quickly retreated back into himself.  

“if they volunteer they bring it on themselves. some of these tributes live for this, you know that. everyone does.” the career districts were vicious beings. they volunteered to win the games, not participate. why anyone would be delusional enough to willingly put themselves through the games, is a mystery to jules. he listened carefully, taking in every melancholic word the man voiced. he looked every bit as defeated. truthfully, jules had no idea how to comfort him, he had never allowed anyone close enough to burden him in the likely chance that they were another lost to the games. he wished he could say he remembered the girl from district nine, but that would be a lie. too many were lost. she wasn’t special. 

𝐀  𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓  𝐘𝐄𝐓  𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘  𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇  tumbled  from  her  lips  at  the  other’s  comment  on  crestfallen  spirits  ,  the  conley  girl  in  full  awareness  of  what  he  meant  —  only  yesterday  her  despondent  spirits  had  threatened  to  keep  her  bed  -  ridden  but  alas  ,  extravagant  sports  such  as  the  hunger  games  required  her  fully  functioning  body  to  be  constantly  paraded  and  carefully  analysed  under  the  eyes  of  the  capitol’s  citizens  .  but  her  stylist’s  and  escorts  fervent  dedication  to  the  games  had  her  up  and  (  partially  )  functioning  and  that  was  enough  to  turn  the  gears  in  her  mind  for  activities  of  mischief  and  disobedience  .  ❛  great  !  ❜  the  conley  girl  grinned  .  ❛  also  ,  just  a  quick  side  note  ,  you’re  constantly  calm  facade  is  annoying  and  you  are  frustratingly  pretty  so  you’re  really  the  last  person  i  want  to  do  this  with  .  but  you’ll  do  .  i  was  thinking  of  writing  something  on  the  walls  ,  like  cockiolanus  snow  or  something  cryptic  like  the  odds  are  never  in  our  favour  . ❜

the corner of his lips upturned ever so slightly at that. perhaps it could be a facade, but it was one he was good at, and had kept going for years now. growing up with an apathetic family will do such a thing to you. and well, the compliment on his appearance just fed his ego. he hadn’t been completely aware of his good looks until he arrived at the capitol. “and what will that achieve? an avox will clean it up before anyone of interest would see it.” he could not give into this girls delusions, it would be of no help to either of them. “a quick side note-” he started, echoing the words back to her. “your recklessness is pointless and your desire of any rebellion against these people is a waste of both my time and yours.” however, he had no desire to be back in the company of his stylists and escorts. this girl showed potential for fun. “surely, you can think of something better than that.” 

after fishing out her small, sleek camera, she said, “in my room, of course!” she pressed a button on the interface and a hologram sprang from the device, bringing them to her gallery. she swiped at the images. “see? i keep the statues i make in my room.” there were various deftly wrought sculptures in the images, awash in strokes of vibrant paint. not realizing that he was talking about her clothing choices, she said, “how many times do i have to tell you that you aren’t ugly? i had to scrub you up to bring out your beauty, but it’s there! you’re very pretty. and i love pretty things. so of course i’ll capture your good side.” her dreamy gaze settling on him, she went on breezily, “i’ve studied your face a lot since you arrived.” 

jules had jumped back at the surprise of the hologram. the inventions here were something he could hardly dream of when you’re from a place such as the seam. he bent forward with focused eyes, carefully analysing the foreign device. he felt the urge to reach out and touch it, as a small curious child would, but he remained in control of himself. call him bizarre, but somehow he found the thought of being preserved in the form of a statue and stored in the gallery of a woman of the capitol to be utterly terrifying. yet, he could accept such a fate. “a tough task, but you managed. you know, I didn’t think someone like you could appreciate someone as unsettling as me.” he said as he examined the hologram, he was growing used to her compliments rather quickly, only turning to look at her after her last comment. “you’ve studied my face?” what there was to study, he would never know. “well, get a good look while you still can.” 

Oxford looked down at the smaller man who had followed him. His sleeve labeled him District 12. Some of the panic that had been coursing through Ox’s veins subsided, but he still felt his fists balling up instinctively. To his surprise, this man seemed to be afraid of him. No. No no no, if there was one thing Oxford didn’t want to be labeled as - it was scary.

“I, uh… wasn’t following you.”

Ox stared down at him, his jaw tightening. “It just seems like we’re being followed - everywhere. Can’t escape anything. Can’t get -”

“A moment alone is rare in these parts, so it seems.”

The comment made Ox’s lip quiver into s small smirk for a mere moment. “Yeah. Seems like. And I agree - it is bullshit. Absolute bullshit. BULLSHIT!” The last word ripped from his lungs much louder than he had intended. The acid bit at the back of his throat and he abruptly turned to smash a fist against the wall behind him. 

Keeping his back to the District 12 Tribute, Ox took a few deep breaths. “Are you the first of your family to be Reaped?”

for a moment, he blinked up at the taller tribute, eyelashes fluttering gently as he studied him. he had to get on this mans good side fast, as jules knew dying from his hands would be a painful way to go. he laughed nervously, trying to put him at ease. jules was no threat to him, not yet anyway. 

“yeah, I am. I’m the youngest of four brothers, and clearly the least fortunate.” he stepped forward, slowly and calculated. it was quiet in the hallway, the only sounds a faint rumbling of the training happening not too far from where they were standing. he wondered if oxford could hear the heaviness in his breathing. “what about you? the first?” he managed to get out the question without the sound of fear trembling in his voice. it hit him that he could be standing before a future victor. jules was not sure how he felt about that. he had never expected to win, but witnessing his future truly disappearing was moderately upsetting, even to him. not too long ago his demise was certain, but the events leading to it had been a blur - it was getting clearer each passing day at the capitol.

her best work? all she had done was put him in unbearable and frankly, embarrassing clothes. anything beyond that he owed to his mother. he had opened his mouth to protest, but quickly became speechless when he felt the touch of her delicate hand on his jaw. his first reaction was to move away - after all he was here with the intentions to be killed. however, he paused the moment he smelt a trace of her perfume in the air - something fruity or floral, he didn’t know. but it was something he hadn’t smelt in a long time. the moment their eyes met, was perhaps the first time he had felt truly uncomfortable during his time here at the capitol. he felt as though she was looking through him. seeing him. he despised it. “and where will this statue be stored? no one would want to look at such a hideous thing.” he moved then, a soft whine falling upon his lips, his simple attempt at a protest. still, he remained in her hold. “if you must take a picture, make sure you get my good side.”

he sighed heavily, he was quickly learning that honesty was no way to communicate with sylvene. “okay, how about ... I would rather die than live this way? I’m not cut out for it.” maybe that will make her feel better. jules couldn’t take the constant irritation of this woman’s optimism. "at least you can take comfort in the fact that when I die, I’ll be looking the best I ever have.” he offered her a small, insincere smile. he had no intentions to upset his stylist, but perhaps she deserved it. her feelings were nothing compared to those of the tributes. and to give them the slightest chance of hope was cruel. “faith? we’re from district twelve, no one has ever had faith in us. we don’t win the games. maybe I’ll just get it over with and step off my plate a second too early.” he grinned then, a smile that reached his eyes. he was no antagonist, but even he could not pass up the temptation to cause a citizen of the capitol a little bit of disturbance.

the moment she shifted, he knew he had accomplished his goal. he unsettled her - perfect. he listened to her intently, and smiled as if she had just complimented him. knowing that they had eyes on them, he had to be careful. there was no such thing as privacy in the capitol, after all. although it would be a lie to say he hadn’t stilled as he felt the warmth of her breath on his cool skin. “two things we have in common then.” as she pulled away, he thought that would be the last of it. what he wasn’t expecting was a flying kiss - just. for. him. he held his chest, as if she had just wounded him. “putting on a spectacle for the people, are you? I hate to break it to you, but mingling with a boy from twelve won’t do you any favours.”

jules was certain that was true, he on the other hand would not look so great. his eyes flickered across her face. for the first time he could see passed the pretentious makeup the stylist is so clearly attached to. a youthful charm - she could be pretty if she did without, he thought. just another thing about the capitol he would not understand in his lifetime. “dreams? the only dream I have is one of a quick death.” if he had dreamed at one point, he was too young to remember now. his future was in the ground. “but promise to make me look good while doing so?” he crossed his arms over his chest, trying to salvage what was left of his dignity. “tell me. do stylists watch their tributes die?” how deep the sickening antics of the capitol ran, he did not know. he wondered if they partied when the tributes died. would she be making a toast in his name?

“lie to an expert? I wouldn’t dare.” he was in over his head, clearly. confident or lovely wouldn’t be attributes jules used to describe himself. not that it mattered, there was no hope for him, that he already knew. “I’m afraid your efforts are wasted on me, sylv.” he had no time for her optimism - it was in vain. he sighed, running his fingers though his hair, it was soft to touch, an unusual feel to him. there was a recurring problem of the capitol citizens not understanding. there was no point in allowing himself the thoughts of survival, the chances were too slim. it would be foolish. “why should I survive? to make you look good?” the stylist almost sounded as if she cared, despite her obvious distaste in his clothing of choice or the fact that he was from district twelve. he found that possibility strange, maybe even disturbing. “your belief is misplaced, trust me. but you can try again next year.”

twenty-five? for a moment he feared living in the seam had aged him quicker than the rest of those unfortunate to live in the twelve districts; however the fact he would never live to be twenty-five seemed to be a bigger issue. he allowed a breathy laugh to slip passed his lips as he turned back to her. “I’m sorry, I think the doom of my impending death has put a damper on my spirits.” being stuck in a broom closet wasn’t his idea of fun. to make matters worse he wasn’t alone. sensing this girl was not one to give up so easily, he decided to appease her. “you have thirty seconds to convince me. if not, I’m out that door.” what limited time she spoke of, jules did not know. their deaths started the day they were reaped. their time belonged to the capitol now.

he stiffened for a moment, then shrugged it off. she was trying to be nice. they did that a lot at the capitol, so it seemed. “and what will that do for me? look, I know you’re trying to help. but that sort of stuff doesn’t work on me.” anything he could take comfort in now was long gone. his death was inevitable, and he was fine with that. though he wondered if it had bothered her. dressing people up to parade, then die. or perhaps, it was about the competition for her - helping her tribute become a victor. jules himself wouldn’t have the stomach for such a job. “but don’t worry. it doesn’t affect you at all, you’ll have new tributes to dress up the next games.” 

“no, the clothes suit you.” he stepped closer to her and leaned in. “it’s a shame you won’t be able to get used to this.” he gestured into the empty space around them. he knew he wouldn’t be getting used to the capitol either. the minute he steps into the games, he would never be stepping out. but alunsei volunteered, and he couldn’t show any hint of weakness around her, that he knew. “maybe they’ll send something nice home to your family to express their condolences.”

his eyes wondered as she began to discuss the interview. “I can’t wait.” his tone dull and blunt. “if this is what they have me wearing now, I can’t imagine what I’ll be wearing for my interview. it’s a privilege, I suppose.” that’s what they want to hear, it’s a privilege to die for your amusement. it would make him sick if he hadn’t grown up knowing this would likely be his destiny. “I somehow doubt show stopping pieces will save us now. the people of panem have already decided if they love or hate us.” he looked her up and down, taking in her excessive look that is surely common in the capitol. “now we just have to wait to die.”

he scoffed, it was said the capitol had an obsession with the shiny stones on his ensemble; however, he didn’t get the fascination. what it had to do with district twelve, he did not know either. though he dared not get into that discussion with his stylist. “confidence?” he raised his brows in disbelief, before brushing his fingers along his jawline, stunned by the comment on his face. “that’s the last thing I need.” confidence would be of no help to him. “trust me, the finery of my old clothes were good enough for me.”  he was told the stylists were to be their friends. they were there to help. that remains to be seen.