the flowers' serenade {Perennials / Day 4}

Will hell have a seat waiting for him?

A burning fire of his wrongs staring back at him in a seat of flashy spiked gold. The way he had pushed his lips into Exover's was desperate. Desperate to feel like he's still himself on this ugly place. Born to be the ruin, he can't help but feel the pounding of Exover's hits lingering on his skin. The only truth to it being that he deserved it. Deserved the pain that echoes across his skin like a flame of righteousness by a blind boy who could be an angel, but was wingless in this arena. That'd make him be a demon in comparison. Damsel. Bitch. Bad guys. Pestilence. The bringer of ruin.

Ronan can't help it, but he's choking on the air in his lungs as if he were drowning in his own lies. Drowning in his own performance of lies because he wanted to be like Riordan. A cousin who went mad in the arena and died mad. His mother had screamed at him about it for weeks after it happened. The hardened skin that he had to put up in a state of mourning in order to let go. The past only drags people down. Ronan thought if he out ran it, it wouldn't catch up to him. What a fool he had been. The fire that burnt down Tempus had lit a hatred in so many around him.

Caspar had told him how stupid he had been.

Some days he wished he had listened to him.

"I think I'll take that smoke now."

The drunkenness haze of his own thoughts putting together to words carefully. The hand moves on it's own without the entirety being processed. The cigarette smoke giving way to a memory of the courtyard where he was stuck in to smoke during his breaks at the medical wings and during his stay at the mental ward. The struggling youth of Ronan's cries echoing into the air, but his mother's sharp eyes shutting him up. Men were meant to be strong. Men were meant to never show weakness. Men carry a heart full of fire. Not a heart full of smoke. Pathetic. That's what she had called him.

The pain in her eyes evident.

The disappointment in his father's eyes linger.

The cough shakes him from the flashes of drunkenness and pain. The way that Severus coughs willingly into the open air scares him for a moment, but he can remember the first time he let the nicotine into his lungs. Relief, but torture coming through at the same time. His roommate during his stay had told him to take it. The smoke would help him seem better. Better than what his mother considered him. None of it worked. Ronan didn't work.

"I think it was wrong to have dreams," Another flurry of coughs from the young boy's lungs. "I just need to learn to live without them."

A flash of pain crashes into his chest. The way Severus says it breaks the heart more and more. Dreams weren't meant for the strong. They were learning how to play this game. Losing the dreams that many of them would never be able to have. Wrong. No. Right. No. Everything is coming in with an avalanche of fire, burning everything they had thought to be true. Ronan's been there. Ronan's still there. A silence fills him, but he lets out some words.

"I think you need to hold onto them. They're all we have left, Sev."

As soon as the words leave, the boy quits. Hand shaking as Ronan receives the cigarette back. Taking the biggest puff that he can to ignore the pang of resentment in his chest. The pang of guilt that rests between his heart and head, somewhere choking in the middle of his throat, only being relieved by the smoke and alcohol in his system.

"Better to not let it go to waste."

A nod to Severus Ward, the most confusing fourteen year old he has ever met. Way more smarter than he had ever been at fourteen. Too naive to really let his dreams vanish, but too stubborn to let them die. A chuckle and a small frown pulls on his face as he reaches for a bottle of whatever the gamemakers got for them. Taking a swig of the alcohol and smoking the rest of the cigarette, he listens to the boy strum on the guitar and closes his eyes to breath in that he's still alive. Still alive with others who care about him.

Instead of sitting in silence with the alcohol in his veins, someone breaks that by sitting next to him. A gentle breeze of the night moves his hair and pulls gently on the ear tag as he opens his eyes to see none other than Aurora Lachance. Death as they have called her. As if death would come in such a friendly package. A moment is all it takes before she nudges his hand to the alcohol that he carries, he lets her have some and grabs himself another.

"Picking fights, Not-Doctor?"

The dark chuckles rises from his throat quicker than his own words. The fire crackling in the distance as the sounds of Severus' guitar strums ring in his ears. The alcohol making him feel lighter than he has since getting his name called. Death sits with him as he knows the ruin of himself is waiting to ruin everything between all of them. "Ran into Ex, decided to roughen me up a bit. Don't blame him." A shrug as the flames take over his vision, reminding him of the fire that Caspar carried in those eyes. "I did go at him hard since we've been in the arena." The sound of broken noses and heavy breaths fill his skin.

Rory takes the moment to drink from the alcohol, making her cough and make a face. Eyes raised at her form before recognizing the new information. Of course, Rory never had a drink until now. A laugh almost breaks, but he holds himself steady. "Lucky he didn't strangle you. I would have." Strangulation would have been the easy way out. The thought still gets a laugh out of his throat at the idea of it. Another drink from her makes him take a drink from his own. "I don't trust all this... camaraderie. Feels off."

Trust. Ronan didn't trust it either. Despite his wish for it to be true, the gamemakers were planning something. Something big. Something to test them. Something to bring them together one day and then tear them apart the next. A hum of agreement comes from his throat. "I'm sure we're in for a helluva day tomorrow." A deep stare into his alcohol. Death was coming for them. Sooner or later, one of them would die. The truth was he had expected it earlier, but they persevered through it. Would he die first? Either way, he would be ready for tomorrow in the morning with a helluva hangover. Eyes glance to his drink and he takes a long swig of it feeling the nerves calm down even more and his vision feel a little more clouded.

"I am lucky. Guess we kissed and made up or something like that."

A light blush comes to life on his skin as he remembers the moment. The heat on his face either from embarrassment or just from the amount of alcohol in his body. Hell would be waiting for him. Burning thrones to make him suffer through everything he made everyone else suffer through.

"I'm just gonna make the most of tonight. Worry about it later."

The cough in her throat makes him feel on edge.

"I want to show you something. In case I don't get a chance to show anyone else."

The curiosity in his veins makes him lean a bit closer to see what she has. The note is everything he expected it to be from a gamemaker. Deadliest. Royalty in her blood. A crown upon her head. The queen of the eighty first. A small moment before she speaks to him again. "Came with the crown." A small swig of alcohol to make himself still taste the bitterness on his tongue and let the burn swirl in his chest.

"Huh, wondered where the queen get up came from. Guess you've got a fan." The chuckle burns through his chest. The smirk on his lips as he lets himself get a little bit less serious as he lets the thought go through him. The words upon his tongue as he lets her have a small joke that would be between them. "Fitting though, Doctor Last Chance to Queen Last Chance." Queen of death. That's what she'll be remembered as. Ronan will be nothing more than her lackey who was a damsel in distress from some fucking puppies.

The silence fills them as Ronan lets himself stare openly at the fire, letting the alcohol take over his veins. The drunkenness coming in a bit stronger. The weightlessness in his chest feels freeing, but he can imagine what his mother is doing. Staring at the screen, laughing at her pathetic son. A useless man and a garbage son. Can't even do medical shit right. The silence is broken with a change in the air as tension fills the conversation.

"Everything's fake here. Tell me something true. Something really, honestly, entirely true."

Fake. Everything was fake. A fantasy where there was only death, despair, suffering, and nothing good. Reality was hard to find. Ronan knew it deadly so, he's seen the fakest of fake people back in Six. Girls who want nothing more than to put him as a knock in their bedpost. Guys who wanted to get their dirty fists upon his bloodied body. Instead of facing their emotions, they drink, smoke, do drugs, and hide away from the truth. Not all of them, but the ones he had surrounded himself around always did.

Did she want to truth? Could she handle his truth? Probably. Did he want to tell it? Absolutely not. The fear in his chest rising from the doctors who told him he was a mistake. A boy of ruin. The words of his mother's disappointment and suffering upon his skin. A disgrace to people. God, could he even tell her. The weight on his chest screams for him to put on a facade and hide behind the lies. Hide behind the hardness that he's kept up for years. Almost as if he were contemplating the ways to not tell her, his voice escapes, the alcohol deciding for him.

"You're right. Everything is fake here."

The flames are both a comfort and a discomfort as he stares deeply into them. The red and oranges mixing with the flame inside of his chest. The truth hurts more than the lies he hides behind. Keenis were meant to be absurd. Einfallens were meant to be strong dreamers. Ronan was neither of those things, he was only human. Confused by his own dreams, but stuck in a hard place and a screaming mother.

"I hide myself behind this hardass attitude. I try harder than I should to be this badass guy who smokes, drinks, and parties in Six because I've never been confident enough to be who I feel I am."

Who was Ronan Keeni-Einfallen? Confident. No. They all live with secrets in their veins. Secrets that the capitol wishes to know with the death and destruction they bring. Entertainment for the capitol, but suffering for the world. Ronan doesn't care if it's the alcohol speaking or not, but he's tired of living as this person. Heroes. Villains. Damsels. Knights. All he wanted was to live the way he remembers he had when he was the happiest. Fate had decided to give him ruin. The swig of alcohol that covers up his cough feels great against his nerves.

"I was so young back when I was myself. I sat in audiences of my cousin's shows. The glittering lights and the outfits that were so extravagant that I wanted to be that person."

The person that stood there in all sorts of beauty. The spotlight burning on them as they belt out the last note with tears in his eyes. Mother and father had thought it was good to give him a good example to follow. Riordan was more of a man than Ronan had shown. The interest had been good for him, at least that's what they told him, but it was never Riordan who he had his eyes on. Never the person his parents wanted him to have eyes on. His hands clutch tighter to his drink as his throat tightens a little more, the fire blazing bright against them.

"My mom isn't really my mom. My dad had me while they were married, with a Keeni woman. I was the ruin of their love, born to be everything wrong. Including being a strong man with expectations that I was supposed to be like them."

Expectations that he'll never live up to. The swig of alcohol burns harder in his chest. The tears that threaten to well up are pushed back as he lets the silence fill the air. Stumbling over his own thoughts, he doesn't dare break. Weakness wasn't meant to be shown in the games. Ronan had promised he would give them a strong menace, like Aeson Kite. A villain that the capitol could swoon over. Too bad their villain was breaking that promise with truth.

"She caught me and a friend living out my dream. My friend put me in makeup, a dress, and some heels because I wanted to be like the people my cousin worked with. I wanted to be as strong and beautiful as them...."

It was never the male actors. Beauty was in his eyes as a young boy and in a world where that was looked down upon made things harder. Harder to accept that nothing felt right. His mother's shouts fill his ears still. That terror in his chest rising as she screamed at his father. Little boys were meant to play in the dirt and scrape their knees. Never to play with dresses. Little boys were supposed to want to be firefighters, doctors, or peacekeepers. Instead, Ronan only wanted to be like the beautiful women at the shows. He wanted to dress up and play with makeup. He wanted to wear heels in a performance where he could show the emotions that he feels. An awkward laugh escape from his throat as the tears break gently, but he wipes them away quickly.

"Guess out of everything, I'm probably the fakest thing in this arena." A long silence before he continues. "After she found us, she uhhh.... She never let me see my friend again. I was put through some fucked up shit and sent to the mental ward because my mother didn't understand and my father didn't care. She was a higher up at this hospital and it wasn't the worst, but being around people who had things that were more of struggle, it sent me spiraling. I'm still spiraling."

The spiraling was hard. The losing of a friend was harder. Everything fell apart since then. Riordan had defended him once, long ago, but his mother just distanced them from his cousins. After everything, he was looked at as a mistake. The ruins of her life. The last failure to be had. The mental ward hadn't been good. People called him a sin. People said he deserved to go to hell as a kid. His own mother told him that he was never going to be her son. His father turned his eyes away from him. Never supported him. Instead, he acted aloof to the entirety of it all. He's seen it all. It lives in his nightmares. The thought of what he said to Ex coming back. Ex would be better than anything he dreams about nowadays.

"I told myself long ago, I would never be that person again. Despite everything, I still suffer from those months spent in that mental ward. I hear cries in my dreams. I see the horrors in my dreams. That's why I never wanted to be a doctor." A glare to the fire as the flame burns harder in his chest, but a weight is relieved from his life, whatever little bit he had left of it. "I never wanted to be like those fucked up doctors I was stuck with."

The large swig of alcohol fills his chest with a fire. Burning up the toxicity of his life as if he could run from it. He's done nothing else, but run from it and be the man his mother wanted him to be. Rory Lachance is nothing like he expected. He's told the story a few times, but no one cares. At least, no one cares enough to do anything about it. Instead, the drunks forget about it and leave him alone. She doesn't drink, but her eyes open and the stare shakes him to his core. The lack of judgement that fills her is freeing in a way. Tears want to come, but he can't. He just can't anymore.

"Ronan, I'm so sorry. What happened to you was wrong." The swig between them is freeing. "But it doesn't make you wrong. Okay? Our messed up pasts don't make us messed up people." No. They didn't. The small panic in her eyes makes him worried, but he stays calm as the beating of his heart fills his ears. "And I - I would never do anything like that to you. Ever." A moment to feel the care in her tone. The silence that fills his chest, the hollowness that feels full of care now in the presence of Rory, Severus, and Raven. A smile breaking from his lips.

"I know. I'm not perfect. I'm still messed up, but not in that way." The fire crackles with the drunken fire in his chest. "I know you would never do that to me. What she did was wrong. So fucking wrong." A dark chuckle escaping his lips as he thinks of how lucky he was to have been able to find someone like Rory in the arena. "In the end, she did get what she wanted. Mostly because I saw it as the only way to survive. If there's anything I regret, it's for following her words."

And then, he does what his mother would tell him not to do. He lets his emotions get to him and he pulls himself closer to her, engulfing her in a hug. The stench of alcohol on his breath as he relieves the pain. The survival instinct of being a doctor and a serious man, who was problematic to escape the way his mother wanted him to be. Accepting this person that he became because it was better than the boy who wanted to wear make up and dress in girls clothes. The words fill his chest with something that he didn't want in the arena, but would suffer from. Friendship.

"Thank you, Rory." The hug ends. Hand picking up his drink. The long drink he takes fills him after his exhaustion from holding that in for so long escapes. "How about you, Queen Last Chance? Tell me something honestly, entirely true."

The crooked smile makes him smile backs. "I don't really hate you." She stares at the note. He knew that she didn't hate him, despite everything, he knew what hate looked like. Exover had hated him. Savior had hated him. His mother had hated him. He knew what hate looked like and Rory was never like them.

"I know you don't."

"My mom's sick. Really sick." He wants to pull her into a hug, but he waits. "Alex Brooker is my best friend."

"I-I'm sorry."

A deep breath comes from her and she whispers. She whispers one of the most truthful things that he's ever heard. A frown on his face comes, but he hides it from her. The drunkenness is starting to get to her. He can see it taking over. "They know. But no one else can. It would tear things apart back home." The gesture to the note makes him know what she's talking about. A hug comes from him as he gives her a nod, his own laugh echoing from his drunkenness.

"That's fine. Don't need you having a torn up home like me." The smile fills him as he downs the rest of his drink. His feet push him up to stand in front of her. He's sorry that she has to deal with that, but he can't focus on that. Instead, he finds the beat of Severus' song. "I don't hate you either." The words felt like they needed to be said. "Thanks for being here and listening." The cigarette feels heavy on his pocket, but he ignores the want to smoke it. The weightlessness coming back in full force as he gives her a smile. "It's a party, c'mon, let's dance."

Offering a hand to her, she looks at it for a moment before taking it and speaking.

"Fine. But only 'cause I think you've gotten me a little drunk." A chuckle from his lips as he knows she's more than a little bit more drunk. She leans a little bit closer before speaking again. "You're welcome. Thank you."

The sound of the music fills them as Ronan lets his eyes drift gently away from everything. The feeling of weightlessness from either the alcohol or the truth. He can't help feeling like he's just unshackled himself from a prison where everything burns with anger. Ruins linger behind him, but here he feels like he could build an entire empire of his own. Instead of destroying everything, he can build it up from the ruins.

Man, woman, whatever he decided he wanted to be for the future.

He could still dance to the sound of this night.

And deep down, he didn't care about everything around them. No games. No tributes. No death. All there was were Rory, someone who cares about him. Raven, a girl who had his back in this place. Severus, a boy who had dreams and reminds him a little too much of a younger version of himself. The sound of music to dance with. The night sky shining down at him. The crackle of a fire. The crowd of tributes who sound nothing more than background noise.

If he were to die now, he would die happy.

And for whatever reason, he didn't care anymore.

If hell had a seat waiting for him, then that would be okay.

At least, he could live now, in this moment.

Morning will come, but until then, he'll dance among the stars, with freedom in his chest, and ruin gone from his vision.