under the {r a d a r} // python

It was in a white dress and silver heels that Pearl Millison escaped her mother’s critical gaze, slipping through the front door without voicing as much as an accidental peep. Ruby was so absorbed in the eldest daughter’s dress (turquoise, her favorite color, glistening brilliantly beside heavy bands of diamonds on her wrists to match the name Diamond Millison) that she would not notice the delicate frame scurrying away since her attire, make-up, and hair were already complete. Her mother was once again ecstatic about another victory for her “honorable district,” and even more thrilled about who the newest additions to victor village would be: the entire Shore family. Such a prosperous family of careers was more than welcome to the neighborhood in her mother’s eyes. She was already talking about the potential “perfect couples” that could arise if Pearl and her sister were to visit them and get acquainted with the boys. Needless to say, neither of them were excited about that.

Opal would be arriving within a few hours, and Pearl decided she wanted a head start - not for the sake of meeting her (as charming, beautiful, and inspirational as she was), but to breathe fresh air that was cleansed of cosmetic toxins and hairspray while her mother fussed obsessively over appearances and etiquette. The situation was almost identical to the return of Peridot Myler, when he became district one’s shining star two years prior. This time, however, there would be an entire family of careers moving into the neighborhood, rather than just a single victor. Mother was delighted, Diamond was intrigued, and Pearl was anxious. Such a large bundle of careers living in her neighborhood might provoke her mother into forcing her to spar with them. She wasn’t quite sure what she was more afraid of; embarrassing herself with her squeamish nature, or losing in a humiliating and painful fight to one of them.

Mother thought she knew everything about everyone, but Diamond was the educated one. She had the street smarts while Pearl could only regurgitate rumors. With all of the information the two of them had gathered, Pearl knew she had more information about the Shores than her mother did. Ruby actually believed that Opal was an honest, bloodthirsty career, like Diamond could be. That wasn’t true. Opal reminded Pearl of herself, only stronger. She was an inspiration, a beacon of hope for somebody like her. A girl whose passion was plants had claimed victory over such a brutal games, claiming four lives under her name. It made her realize that she wasn’t alone, but it also made her wonder; could she do the same if her name were to be pulled?

Her stomach told her no, but her brain said maybe.

The square was alive with activity and pulsing with every color of the rainbow. Citizens and careers were clustered together, waiting for that train to arrive so they could congratulate their new victor with celebratory screeches and cheers. A few of them, of course, would “boo” (the envious ones, no doubt), but their weak disapproval would be lost to the screams of Opal’s fans. Pearl knew she would be among those who smiled and clapped, as would Diamond and her mother. She couldn’t say the same for the Grimm family. That happened to be one part of this she had dreaded: seeing their expressions as Xanthus’ killer stepped onto that stage and made her mark permanent. She would be here forever, while Xanthus would be buried. His murderer would be immune to all wrath and vengeance. The plaguing thought made her squirm uncomfortably.

Determined to distance herself from the crowds until her family made an appearance, Pearl skirted her way around the outside and followed the aroma of baked goods until she found her favorite store. Her mouth watered at the smell of hot pastries, but she knew she was not supposed to eat until the event was over. Instead of submitting to temptation, she sighed and found a bench not far from the entrance. There was a boy already seated there, his face littered in scars that could make any child gasp in horror. Pearl knew better than to judge something so familiar. She glanced briefly at the tiny pink scars scattered across her palms, then approached him at an angle. ”Excuse me, do you mind if I sit with you?”

The boy was kind enough to scoot over and offer his company. Glossed lips stretched into a gentle smile as she sat down next to him, far enough to avoid invading his personal space but close enough to grasp his extended hand and shake it. His name was Ver; short and simple. She briefly wondered if it was a nickname of some sort. The Millisons never liked nicknames, not unless it glorified some aspect of their reputation. ”Pleasure to meet you, miss…?” The manners of an upper class citizen seeped through every fiber of her being, and she was quick to respond politely, forgetting that there was no need to be so proper. This was merely a casual conversation, after all. ”Millison,” she said, then bit her lip upon realizing her mistake. He would want to know her first name, of course.

”Pearl Millison,” she corrected with a nervous smile. Revealing her full name always begged the question: would he recognize her identity? Careers were well aware of her mother’s victory despite how ancient it felt. Names like Topaz Ross, Peridot Myler and now Opal Shore were being tossed left and right throughout the proud district, but occasionally there would be those who recalled the name Millison, since Ruby Millison was still alive in victor village with a husband, a jewelry company and two career daughters. Diamond, of course, was much more popular than she was. She was strong-willed, feisty, and dangerous, just like mother had always dreamed she would be. Pearl was much more tender - not an admirable career quality - and timid, so it was only natural that she remain low on the food chain compared to the rest of the esteemed careers.

Shouts could be heard above the loud hum of the crowds. Opal’s train was closer, and more bodies were added to the mix of colors. Such a mold of different shades of every color would look like chaos on a painting palette, she thought. Not that she did much painting compared to drawing. She was practicing, and gradually improving her talents with every stroke of the brush. One day she hoped to capture moments like this, where every smiling face was beaming in the district square and sharing laughs with friends. It was the complete opposite of the reaping, when everyone was uptight and unpleasant.

She tapped manicured fingernails over her bare knee and looked at Ver again. She had never been very good at holding conversations. ”Are you excited?” she asked. It felt like a silly question; everybody should be excited for the return of another victor, other than those who mourned and envied. Unless Ver was not the Games-crazed type of citizen? Although there were few she knew of other than herself, they existed somewhere. He could be one of them, and she wouldn‘t blame him if he was. ”About Opal, I mean.”

Her name was a curse. Ver’s faltering smile was further proof of the superstition. The curse of the Millisons - or better yet, the curse of the career. Surnames like Shore, Moreno, Dempsey, Fray, Lightwood, and Millison were intimidating to hear, because to those who were only children or unable to train these names were a reminder of how ferocious their district was: a district filled to its brink with offspring that squealed at the idea of murdering on national television for fame and glory. Pearl, although drilled to her core with endless nonsense about how she should dream big and become a trained killer, was not an advocate of such violence. She was not putty that could be molded into the perfect creation through her parents’ strict hands; she was solid as a rock, her nature predisposed and permanent. Compassion could not be forced out of her through rigorous training. Her nausea at the sight of bloodshed could not be banished through sheer will-power. Her tears could not be dried with money and splendor. She was a good-natured soul born into the wrong family, and now she would suffer because of it.

Bloodlines meant nothing to her. Millison or not, she was ill-fitted for training and weaponry. The scars marking her hands were proof of these early struggles. But the ideals of the career had been pounded into her brain along with punishments until there had only been sanctuary through obeying her mother’s orders. This treatment was the only reason why Pearl was as skilled as she was. Physically the name would suit her training, but emotionally she was everything but courageous. The Games themselves were brutal, and although she had been forced to watch them since she was a child she still dreaded the event each year. She hated the idea that her mother would cheer if either of her daughters were to be sent off to fight like gladiators. She hated the idea that some people wanted to slit innocent children’s throats just to become famous. She hated the idea that each year there was a chance Pearl or Diamond could be summoned to the capitol and thrust into a hostile environment, where either of them could surely die. Diamond’s chances surpassed her own - she would at least have hope. Pearl’s fate, however, would be sealed.

She immediately blamed herself for Ver’s sudden withdrawn behavior. Had she only mentioned her first name perhaps he wouldn’t have recognized her. ”Excited?” his tone was weaker now, and she wanted desperately to vanish into thin air for being such a fool. ”Yeah, um - I mean, who isn’t?” He sounded uncertain. Was he still intimidated by her name, or was he truly as apathetic about Opal’s victory as he appeared? There were a number of people who wouldn’t be as excited because they thought of the Games as barbaric, and she agreed. But she was actually delighted to see one of their district’s tributes alive. It wasn’t the glory and the praise she was concerned with - just Opal’s safety. She didn’t deserve to die, so Pearl was relieved to see her in good shape (despite the missing leg, of course.)

”I-I think Opal is different from the others,” she suddenly blurted, thinking it too impolite to abandon the conversation to flee like a coward. She was certainly more skilled at fleeing than mending her own problems, but she figured she couldn’t worsen the situation if she tried. ”I don’t think she wanted to kill any of those tributes.” And as district one residents, they both knew of former tributes who had indeed wanted to spill pure blood not only for the sake of victory, but for the sake of sadistic, unadulterated pleasure.