aim your >>--->{arrows}<---<< high :: topaz

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i don't like walking around this old and empty house
so hold my hand, i'll walk with you, my dear
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Often Topaz recognized the tributes she was forced to mentor. More so in the earlier years, of course, because she'd spent over a decade of her life training with many of them, but even in the more recent Games she recognized faces from around One, at least. Allen Hearst; she'd known him, because of his brother. The Morenos; well, she hadn't known them individually, but she'd known the name. Mike Smith she'd seen in the gym, although she didn't like to think about that brutish monster. So yes, she was used to recognized the tributes she was given to train up and ship out to their impending doom. But the one face she'd never expected to see making her way up to the Reaping stage? Kiera Dempsey's.

She had no idea why it had shocked her so much to hear her volunteer; it was most likely because Topaz had never associated the other girl, who'd nearly become her friend with being of Reaping age. But she was only seventeen years old; nearly five years younger than Tope herself. Of course she was in the Reaping. And she was tough; of course she had volunteered. But Tope had still gaped, open-mouthed, at the Dempsey girl she'd met at the Olympics a few months previous, having never expected to see her in a position that the victor believed she had horribly, dreadfully cursed.

But now, as her mentor, she had to face her. Because this girl had a fighting chance of winning, more so than anyone she'd ever mentored before. You said that about Stark, too, remember? Then you went and screwed her and her chances. Assuming Kiera was allowed victory by the Gamemakers — after all, her lineage was rather pockmarked — Topaz had to pull it together and be the best possible mentor she was capable of being, regardless of the fact that she was pretty certain that wouldn't amount to anything good at all. She'd been better about the drinking, now that she was a married woman — a married woman, she hated the sound of that — and mainly only drank socially (unless she was with Arbor or the other victors, in which case they got completely hammered just for the sake of getting drunk) or with Maverick in their brand new, excessively lavish Capitol home before a long night of sex. Having eliminated the usual excuse, liquid distraction, it would be a lot easier to focus on getting Kiera to the end.

Topaz had been sitting in the living area of the District One training center apartment when she heard the younger girl enter and greet her. The moment she spoke, the champion was immediately dreading the very likely possibility of watching tho acquaintance of hers die. Where they were now wasn't friendly competition, like the Olympics had been. It was real. It was life or death, and that made it a thousand times more intense. In the Hunger Games, losing wasn't an option. "So, any tips on kicking ass and taking names?" Kiera asked, sounding falsely confident. If anyone knew that feeling, Topaz did. "Well look, if anyone can win this, it's you," Tope replied with a small laugh. "So I'd say being your usual self will suffice."

Kiera's next words were a complaint about the Capitol's shallowness, its fakeness, something Tope understood when comparing it to the districts. But the difference between her and Kiera was that she'd adored the nation's ruling city when she'd come here for the first time as a 56th tribute; it had seemed so stunning, so massive, so illuminated with splendor. Years later her opinion of the place had definitely diminished, but she still thought it was better than One. For her, at least. "You get used to it," she responded finally, turning her head to gaze out the window at the streets below. They were packed with Capitolites trying to catch glimpses into the training center and maybe spot a tribute or a mentor; these people relished star sightings, and this was their absolute favorite time of year. Tope desperately wished she could be as carefree as these people, her greatest concern whether or not she'd be able to snatch a tribute's autograph before prep week ended.

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some days i can't even trust myself
it's killing me to see you this way
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As Topaz sat on the cushioned chair in the sitting room—a favorite one she'd frequented since she was a tribute herself—her subconscious called up uninvited recollections of the countless tributes she'd mentored while sitting in the same exact place. Ana and York. Quite a pair, the two of them; she'd been pretty relieved when York died, but it had been a pity to see Ana go so early. Allen and Soyala. Allen had reminded her all too much of Timothy, his twin, one of her victims. Soy had made it far, although she'd lost it towards the end. Just like all the rest. Mike and — alright, not even going to go there. The 59th had been nothing short of a train wreck. Reyes and Avon. Perhaps the best chance she'd had to date, but again, it had slipped from the grasps of both teenagers towards the very end. Stark and Jae. Another lost cause. Now, finally, there was Peridot, a formidable fighter who had a lot going for him, and Kiera. Her friend, a warrior in the truest sense. Was this going to be her year? Would this be the Games in which she'd be able to shake off the curse she seemed to carry as a mentor? She certainly hoped so, if not for her own sake then for Kiera's.

Tope rose and stood beside her tribute as she stared out the window of the training center just as she had, although her gaze was one of disgust rather than weariness. They weren't high up, as they were in the One apartment on the first floor, so it wasn't surprising when a couple spotted them and pointed eagerly, drawing the attention of a few other pedestrians as well. Deciding to appease them before they went too ballistic the victor gave them a slight wave and a small smirk, and they looked as if their lives had been made. She was accustomed to such behavior: her companion, however, was not. Characteristically, what followed was another perplexed expression of repulsion on Kiera's part. "It's like they don't even know how soulless their existence is. Even though they're calling for my blood I feel bad for them."

"That's exactly it," the champion muttered quietly. "They don't know. They cheer for the Games because they've been raised to. They live in comfort and ignorance because they don't know what it means to have a purpose." Topaz realized with a small start that for the first sixteen years of her life she'd been living just the same way. A luxurious One mansion perfect for the family of a renown manufacturing CEO, with a private chef and parents who gave her anything she wanted, if it only meant getting her out of their hair. Cheering on her district's tributes every year, booing the other competitors she disliked. And her major worry? What she would wear to that evening's party, whether or not the bitch down the block would call her a whore (probably rightfully so, but it still hurt) again. She'd grown exponentially since then, sure, but the fact that she'd seen the other side before emerging into the light—the darkness, more like—had allowed her to tolerate the Capitolites in a way that none of the other victors could. "But I've never hated them for it, like everyone else outside of here does. Because, well... I understand. And in a way, they're lucky."

"I'm sorry you're in this position. I can't imagine the burden it is." To Topaz's surprise she felt Kiera reach up to place her hand on her shoulder in what was probably meant to be a sympathetic way. The young woman attempted to gauge this act of empathy, wondering whether or not it was genuine because she'd received so many similar ones in the past that hadn't been. I'm sorry for your loss, Topaz. I hope things get better, Topaz. Don't be fooled by my caring facade, I'm really just trying to get in your pants, Topaz. But Kiera seemed to legitimately understand the unspoken horrors her mentor had gone through over the past six years. And though she could not offer true relief, at least not in any way that would heal her broken soul, she was offering the best she could: a comforting hand.

"Hey, you don't have to worry about me." Tope pulled herself together and turned towards her tribute, knotting her eyebrows together in a stern expression. "Right now all I want you to worry about is getting out of that arena alive. If you survive, you'll have done me the biggest favor you possibly can. Maybe then people won't give me so much shit for sucking as a mentor." These words were accompanied by a snicker that was a concealed attempt to lighten the atmosphere. "But the biggest tip I can give you? Don't be like me. Because as I think I've successfully proven, it's not going to get you anywhere you particularly want to go."