91st Victor Presentation

He'd spent so long thinking about the Games and the Games only (the plan to volunteer, the grit required to survive, the consequences of murder and its actions, et cetera et cetera) that Storm had never really processed what was to come after.

But now, days removed from a morphling induced haze and days further removed from leaving five victims and twenty three corpses in his wake, well, it was starting to sink in that this wasn't just an ending for him so much as it was a beginning. Cause of course, now he was Capitol royalty. Now, year after year, he'd have to return to the Capitol to mentor two new bright-eyed kids with the knowledge that at least one of them would die and the second one most likely would as well. That was his fate, until someone unlucky enough to repeat his feats won and allowed either him or Avriel to take a year off every now and then.

(His mind flits to his wayward mentor, and not for the first time, his face flushes with the knowledge of how goddamn immature he'd been in the face of a tired young man who'd only been trying to do his duty).

But for now, one thing at a time. One thing at a time meant dressing up in a suit the color of storm clouds, because man the Capitol prep team thought they were original, having his hair neatly styled back and the gauntness of his cheeks hidden by so many layers of makeup that his entire extended family could have likely used some and still had plenty leftover. And though it wasn't entirely unpleasant, it was stifling, in a sense. No longer was he a tribute with all the freedom in the world. No longer was he a kid with nary a responsibility. No, he was a victor now, a Capitolite celebrity with a duty to fulfill for the rest of his life.

(Was this what his father had based his coming-of-age ritual on? Was this similar to what Night and Eve had gone through when they were scant older than he right now? Damaged beyond repair, set to inherit a legacy that would weigh down on them for the rest of their lives?

Well, if that was the case, at least now they'd have solidarity).

A member of the prep team pinches his artificially blushed cheeks and coos, tells him "Oh, you look so adorable!" as if he wasn't a confirmed killer of five, as if he wasn't a skinny beanpole of a kid still suffering from the effects of malnutrition and artificially induced rage.

But then the words of the Gamemaker, with his glasses so thick and voice so stutteringly awkward that Storm wondered if nerds were the latest Capitolite fashion trend, rang through his ears.

"From now on you aren't just going to be Storm. You're Victor Adroxis."

Victor Adroxis, second of his name. That's who he'd always be here now - not Storm, the happy-go-lucky kid who loved sweets and pranks and smiles and laughter, but Victor Adroxis, the kid who'd killed five people of varying backgrounds in five separate fights and locations in order to place the crown on his head and live another day.

And he'd wanted it, after all. Wanted to be more than just another kid, lost in the mix of a large family. Wanted to prove he was every bit as worthy and capable as his older siblings. Wanted to prove that he, too, had what it took to make his family proud.

(But what part of any of that would make his family proud? What part of almost losing another son, so soon after losing two daughters, would instill anything other than grief?)

Well, at least the nerdy Gamemaker had said. He'd won, so he may as well enjoy it. Or try his damnest to, at the very least.

So he smiles brightly and waves when he's corralled out onto the stage where Sardonyx Crowe waits to greet him. He smiles brightly and laughs at the right moments during their interview. And during the three hour recap video, themed "Independence" for being the first victor in nearly thirty years to win without a single ally, his demeanor doesn't crack once.

That doesn't mean he doesn't feel it, of course. Five die on the first day, and his scuffle with Texas Lovell and his ally in the Bloodbath is seen as some sort of dramatic foreshadowing. A disproportionate amount of time is spent on him freaking out on the little mushroom muttations and getting soaked to the bone in the process. Then it's the third day, and Texas dispatches one of the Two careers like she's nothing, while for all accounts and purposes Storm has a day to himself he most certainly did not earn.

Then the shadow mutt nearly stabs his brains out, and it's no less painful watching it on screen than feeling it in person. Nor is it any less painful when Willem stumbles across him later, delirious and tearful, and slowly, patiently patches him back up.

Then the dragon sets the land alight in purple. Storm and Carly meet in battle, two sides of District Nine who'd never found common ground and always been at odds with one another, and yet it is December Whitaker who pays the price, the first of the five to fall at his blade.

Then it's Willem, and only then does Storm avert his eyes. And if he clenches them tightly at times to ease the burning building behind them, well, that's none of your business, is it?

Cordelia is another case entirely, savage and brutal and every bit the model Career and yet Storm manages to keep up, manages to use Willem's last gift to throw her off just enough to survive. Then it's Cachimorro, and the mood is strangely light despite literally being a fight for revenge, yet he too falls at the end of his blade.

When he crosses blades with Texas, it's even more striking how different they look - Storm gaunt and emaciated but standing strong on his own two feet, Texas a shadow of his former self, the purple visible within his veins even more prominent on a giant screen. They trade blows and insults and words aplenty, and when Storm pulls out his final gambit, well, no wonder the Capitol eats this up year after year, because it was pretty fuckin' dramatic.

And then it's over, and Storm is smiling again, but already his mind is a million miles away, because really, it doesn't matter what he did in his life before that.

Not if that is what's going to be remembered for years and decades to come.