#when. pre games

[victoriams]

ᴡʜᴏ: PRUDENCE WARREN & OPEN ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: THE CAESAR FLICKERMAN SHOW, BACKSTAGE ᴡʜᴇɴ: TRIBUTE INTERVIEWS

It had been a couple of days since the... incident at the TRIBUTE BALL. Although it had been replaying on a loop in Prue's mind ever since ( the sound of blade piercing soft skin, the gurgle of a dying man's throat, blood pooling quick and fast and sticky and wet ), so far, she hadn't been arrested – which she took as a good sign. She imagined if the Capitol knew about her and Danya's involvement in the little stunt, they'd both already have been made to disappear – executed or worse. She knew she should feel relieved about the fact that she was still healthy and breathing, but there was a lingering tension about her – baited breath as she waited for the other shoe to drop, if it ever did.

Instead of dwelling ( okay, she'd multitasked ), she had thrown herself into preparations for the interviews. Though her tributes weren't exactly particularly grateful for the work she'd put in, Prue thought she'd done a fairly decent job – especially considering she was a novice, and one whose entire role as a stylist was a lie, at that. Although her job is as good as over at this point, she still lingers backstage – peeking around the curtain to watch Theon's interview. She couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the poor kid as she watched him onstage – she couldn't claim to know Caius particularly well, but she doubted he would be sticking his neck out to save his nephew when push came to shove.

Prue startles when she feels a hand on her shoulder – practically jumping out of her skin at the unexpected contact. She spins around to face the newcomer, eyes a little too wide and wild to be considered calm. "Sorry, hi," She whispers, offering a half-smile, "Let's move away from the stage, shall we?"

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A fierce duel commences!

[victoriams]

She's not sure whether or not she believes the words – but, maybe because it's Danya who is saying them, Prue feels somewhat reassured. Although they're the same age, Danya has seemed infinitely older and wiser than Prue since the moment they first met – maybe that's why she looked towards Danya for guidance, for leadership. They all did. Maybe it was selfish to rely on one person to keep them altogether like that, but Prue couldn't stop herself from looking to Danya to tell her what to do next.

"Okay," Prue says, smiling. If everything does turn to shit, at least they'll be together when it happens. At least everything they'd done so far will have meant something. Or, at least, this is what she had to tell herself in order to keep going. "Nothing's changed." She repeats, more for her own sake than for Danya's. She glances down at her watch, noting the time. "Shit," She mutters, "I'm supposed to be getting the tributes out of their outfits. I'll check in tomorrow, okay? Be careful."

danya is hanging on by the tips of their fingers , all of the strength in their tiny body grasps their sanity , their will to keep moving forward . this stupid mistake , the error which could have cost alaric his life , prue her humanity . all of their covers shaking in the wind , she might as well have ripped the masks from their faces when plunging her knife into the peacekeeper , spilled snow's beautiful floors with their blood , black more than it was red ; that had surprised her .

they have to keep it together , looking at prue now , danya knows only to protect their friend . they would shield her from this entire rotten world if they could , tucked beneath their cloak where nothing of the capitol can touch her . " this is all for show , " they smile , nudging prue's shoulder gently with their own , certain that the end is near for them all , but living in this moment for as long as they can . " nothing's changed , " they confirm , nodding . " the plan is the plan . we're so close , prue . "

[daily-beau]

Day 16: My saviour

[smallpapers]

Random quick hunger games sketch-y line up or somethingg

(Edit: forgot to mention the kids are in 'school uniform' that's why it's so drab hhh)

[thousandstories]

modern au andrew making AITA Reddit posts during the mania of the meds. not because he actually wants or cares for the input but just for the shits and giggles. he has to keep making new accounts because moderators think he's clogging up the subreddit with "obvious trolling".

[victoriams]

It was always just going to be this. Maybe, once upon a time, Soleil would have felt differently. Back when they were younger and full of hope ( though now they would call it naiveté ), when they imagined that there was something better waiting for them, somewhere. Back before they'd watched their cousin fight to the death in the arena, only to be forced to do the same a few years later. Back before they'd lost their entire family for daring to defy the Capitol. Back before they'd lost the life they'd been promised – before they had to sit idly by and watch as Finch prepared to enter the arena a second time, because they could never just be left alone, even after the Capitol had already made them into monsters.

Now, they just feel numb to the sentiment. This is all life is, all it ever was, and all it would ever be. And Soleil didn't want it.

"Yeah," Soleil says, pushing herself off the desk and back up onto her feet. The truth is, she doesn't know how to help Finch. Doesn't know what to say to make the situation sting a little less – she's not sure the words even exist. She was so used to following Finch's lead, and now it felt as though she was travelling blind. "I'll... uh, I'll go check on Lark." She says, heading back out the door. "Don't do anything dumb without me."

finch simply shrugs -- there was always a way something could go worse, though truthfully the repercussions of their on-stage presence tonight was the last thing on their mind. it was simply something that would have to be dealt with later, when they're in the arena and are forced to. for now, they let the quietness of the office settle their already frantic nerves. being around all the others buzzing about backstage would not help them.

finch thinks about this for a moment - she hadn't thought of what's outside of panem much, either. truthfully, they aren't quite sure where it starts and begins. it's always felt like just one endless stretch of land, mountain, lake. the maps they show you in school are usually just of your district aside from the few you see of panem as a whole, but even now finch cannot fathom it. "no," she shakes her head. "we never had a shot in hell to begin with. since before the dark days, it was always just going to be... this." finch sighs, letting her head hang back and looking up at the fluorescent lights above. "you didn't have to check on me. should probably check on the others, though."

[victoriams]

ᴡʜᴏ: SOLEIL FLEMING & OPEN ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: TRIBUTE TOWER, FIFTH FLOOR ᴡʜᴇɴ: POST-TRIBUTE BALL

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.

So, instead, we find Soleil on the sofa of the fifth floor. On the coffee table in front of her are a series of precariously stacked glass bottles. On the seat beside her, a bucket of rocks. The avox had given her a strange look when she'd made the request – but they'd done it anyway, Soleil had been sure to slip them some food before they left. As the ELEVATOR dings and opens up onto the floor, Soleil has just thrown one of the larger rocks, shattering two of the bottles to pieces with a rather satisfying smash. "I'm busy!" She calls out to the newcomer – not even glancing in their direction before picking up another rock and lining up her next shot.

[egregiousmeme-art]

iSaT Daily Doodle until I post my fucking animatic™: Day 4

Now with more cursing in foreign languages!

[seraphzrequiem]

Employee of Pony Express and member of Crew 5 on the Tulpar, Wesley ███████.

I put my silly little oc guy into mouthwashing (SHOCKER)

Spoiler alert: he will do some fuck shit and probably kill a man at the end. Hooray!

[victoriams]

"Who?" Hermes asks, "Who would ask you to watch their stage for them? Show your work." There's a pause, and Hermes shakes his head. This is certainly far from the first time that he's been called crazy – but he won't stand for any slander from Finnick of all people. "Need I remind you, that you're older than – so if I'm a senile old hag, then that makes you, I don't know, something way worse than that."

"Bring on the bullshit," Hermes repeats, with decidedly less certainty than Finnick had a moment ago. They had little doubt that Finnick could handle himself in that arena, and that Gill was certainly in good hands – but if there was anything they had learned over the years, it was that the arena was unpredictable. Even the most promising tributes could be dead before they'd had a chance to compete. This year would be no different. "He's uh.. he's a good kid. I guess I can maybe understand why Solara likes him. Nothing like you."

Finnick considers Hermes’ words with a perplexed expression. “Really, man? Cause as far as I know, people think of me as pretty responsible.” He doesn’t specify who people could be in this situation, and for good reason. “Someone would totally ask me to watch their stage for them actually.” At least Finnick knows Annie would, given they have a child (who he hasn’t lost) together.

He thinks he understands where they’re coming from, but it’s difficult to say for certain. “Well maybe I don’t. As long as you know you sound like a senile old hag.” The implications were there, after all. A person of Hermes age, pacing around and muttering.

“Absolutely,” Finnick responds in agreement. “I mean… only person comes out alive, and not a kid sometimes, so can we really say that?” This is one of the few times Finnick maybe feels bad about bursting their bubble. “He is. I’ve taught him well. Like father, like son you know?” He smiles, a shade of uncertainty in his grin. “Bring on the bullshit.”

[dykedvonte]

I don’t remember where this quote was from but there’s a line that goes “I was looking through rose colored glasses for so long, the red flags just looked like the way to go.” And I think that embodies Curly’s view point in life and specifically about Jimmy a lot. Not to mentions a world where he actually makes it out of the Tulpar.

[theycallme-ook]

Why do you hold the weight of the world?

She's seventeen. She's older than even the ruins of the surface. She's a small village girl. She knows each blade of grass across the continent intimately. She just wants to study for her Knight's academy graduation exam next year. She just wants her millennias old plan to save all of existence to succeed. She's fallen in love with her best friend. She needs to use his love to leave him and save the world. She is her father's daughter. She's not even a person anymore. Like what the fuck man

[victoriams]

They'd been gone from the third floor for maybe half an hour, maximum. They'd been up since the sun had first started to peek over the horizon, never having been one to sleep in – mind always going too quickly to allow them something as trivial as rest. They'd only gone downstairs to try and source some coffee – it was scarce throughout most of District Three, and although the Capitolites liked to sweeten it to the point of undrinkable, Hermes still relished the taste of caffeine.

They can't say that they're particularly surprised to find Nilani the way she is. He's grown accustomed to the way she liked to solve problems – with all the facts laid out visually, allowing her to connect the dots in realtime. Hermes had never quite seen the benefit of the red yarn, but who was he to judge? He is careful not to step on the masses of paper that Nilani has laid out all over the floor, almost spilling his coffee as he attempts to make a foothold.

"Thought I could sense nerd shit," He says, making a show of running his eyes over the room. He skips over the papers and slides up onto the bench Hita is sitting at, digging his hand into the popcorn without asking. Brought you a cookie, he signs to the younger girl, holding out a brown paper bag, before turning his attention back to her sister. "What's all this then?" He says and signs at the same time.

WHO: nilani tippori & open

WHERE: tribute tower, level three

This was the rawest look any capitolite would get to see their lady lightning wear, the closest to the actual nature of a woman, and still, it was concealed, hidden to play the game a little longer for the crowd who killed their own. She had heard about the Crane mother, about the others and it was hard not to react but Nilani would, privately. Her own relationship with a mother long dead now was nothing wonderful, but she understood. With hair wild as it was this morning and to the protest of her stylist to give her a day it was thrown up in a loose bun. Pen tucked behind her ear, the bolt of lightning clearly displayed on her neck. In a partial crouch, one leg extended almost like a lunge the genius was at work. Nothing relating to anything Volt and she had discussed at length with red yarn in the interior rooms but on the floor of the third level papers were spread across in the hallway in front of the elevator. Was it a device she was designing, another present for a devilish capitolite, perhaps something to wear during the interview with caeser fickerman. Behind her Hita sat on top of a long bench, nibbling at a bowl of vibrantly colored popcorn waiting for a signal to assist. "Watch where you step, please," Nilani called eyes shifted toward the ping of the elevator. On or off if you watched and chose to ride it up there were less terrifying scenes than Nilani figuring out a problem in tight leather pants and half a shirt.

[victoriams]

ᴡʜᴏ: HERMES NEWTON & OPEN ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ: THE CAESAR FLICKERMAN SHOW, BACKSTAGE ᴡʜᴇɴ: TRIBUTE INTERVIEWS

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.

After several minutes of muttering to himself, Hermes looks up to find that he is, in fact, not as alone as he'd assumed. He eyes the newcomer ( a bit rude not to announce oneself, wasn't it? ), before finally addressing them directly, pointing towards the stage entrance. "Stage is that way."

[impdog]

and thanks for the maritime memories 🦑🦑🦑