blood and diamonds, bones and rubies | stellex

s t e l l a ; 

She exists like a thunderstorm - a tempest contained within her delicate frame. Face, legs, hands, smile rebuilt by the Capitol and forged in their image. Not a freckle out of place even though the body she wore was no longer her own. Property of President Snow branded in all but name as she dressed for the VIP event announcing the new Gamemakers for the 81st. The 80th Games yet to be burnt out and the Capitol was in a fury for the new faces, for the new death. Their bloodlust never satisfied.

Her dress, chosen by her girlfriend was black, while Ex’s shone in a deep purple and she has gotten too used to this display. Too used to waking up early in the morning to admire the form next to her. Too used to casual touches and quick smiles. Too used to coffees at a bistro and dinner with other Capitolites. On the nights she was free from memories of the Games, she dreamed of a world where the last drop of blood fell onto damp earth and bloomed into a tree. Its branches scratching the sky. She would awake each morning after those dreams with a laugh. She would hate for them to have to say goodbye.

She fits next to the Capitolite like she was born to be there. Like she hadn’t earned her place by killing three tortured souls to claim her crown. Like she could actually be one of them and not the imposter that she felt. She feels very much the queen with a crown of blood and sacrifice. She is the queen with a crown of bones and sorrow. The darkness still threatens to drown her whole. That feeling will never go away. 

She had no tributes left and yet her job was far from over. It was never over, really. Each night was another excuse for a watch party at the home of a well-to-do Capitolite jockeying for position for the next games. The Gamemakers had been announced just hours before, delivered to the Victors in hand-written notes. The party was just an excuse for gallantry.

Stella was three hours into a torturous session in front of the mirror to get her just perfect for the copious cameras that would be littering the streets upon their arrival when the note arrived. She choked back a sob when she saw that one of her Gamemakers was reprising their role. Ex had no words for her, but a touch to her elbow and a shake of her head, this wasn’t a safe place to talk. They would have to debrief later.

The bee that had belonged to Euley Sarasin was buzzing around the Penthouse angrily, agitated about something. The odd creature, after nearly stinging Stella and flying off in a huff to Aeson's side had somehow found its way to her shoulder as the hovercraft had lifted her nearly-dead, mutilated and burnt body from the Arena. It had escaped a few days previously, gone for hours, and Stella had seen an angry red welt on Mackenzie's wrist the night after. Chuckling to herself, the bee had made its home in the Penthouse and she had fasioned a bee-house of sorts in one of the corners of the immense living room. On nights when Ex didn't sleep over, the bee kept vigil. Honey and wildfire - a reminder of the Games, a token for Euley, a memorial to her spirit, Stella knew she could never part from the magical creature unless it craved release. 

Stella thought she was going to be sick as they existed the limousines. Ex grasped her hand, a light touch at the small of her back to guide her forward and Stella let herself stop to allow the older blonde to lead the way. She would follow her to the ends of the earth if she could.

The faces of Victors and Gamemakers alike beaming down from buildings in the Capitol; creatures of sheer perfection in fabric and bunting. Her own face, smiling widely, blew in the light breeze and Ex pointed it out with a smirk. A private joke, because Stella absolutely hated that photo.

Zel’s comforting words to her in the days after she journeyed home from the arena had rung hollow in her ears when she had heard them, but she too noticed how shattered that man had become. Trials and tribulations breaking not just the tributes but the game makers themselves and Zaya Reine’s face was once again thrust into the spotlight. She had hoped to see Zel again tonight, but rumor had it that he was keeping to himself. If only Stella could be afforded that same luxury. 

Stella hoped that she wouldn’t see Zaya tonight, but Ex was no doubt itching for a scoop. Her mood had soured in recent days because the Quell had proven to run less with blood than with piss and bird shit.

The Capitolites that entertained each night were itching for a fight, a betrayal dripping off their lips; alliances and friendships forged in death and fire be damned.

Love - love had no home in the Games and the spark of something that she saw in Lex and Denali, growing day by day, was destined to end in a body bag for one, if not both of them.

She ached whenever she saw them on the screen, ached in all the right places, and yet she could not tear herself away. They were chaos and loyalty and in designer gowns and denim and if she had to root for any tributes to make it home safe, it had to be them. She would take their deaths just as hard as those of Carter and Hell, Gabriel and Cassia.

Ex snatched two glasses of champagne after saying countless hellos, Stella’s smile hanging off of her face as they found a secluded corner.  She dropped the act after a kiss to Ex's cheek. 

“You’re looking for hints in all of these faces, aren’t you?” Stella asked Ex with a laugh, sipping on the champagne as her eyes moved lazily through the crowd. It was an honest deflection away from this afternoon and one that Stella would seize on gladly.

“I’m sure there’s enough money in here to buy the next ten Games.”