a l l o v e r {rook/trix vt}

♕ { p a t r i c i a v a l f i e r n o} ♕
victor of the 68th annual hunger games

hey shady baby
i'm hot like the prodigal son
pick a petal eenie meenie miney moe
and flower you're the chosen one

"Meet me at the Bluefish the moment you're done here."

Leon Krigel's voice reminded me of steel. It was strong and unbreaking, but not harsh. A stable voice. A nice voice, I thought. If you had asked me what I thought of his voice two months ago, when I was trying my best to conjure up an idea for my Private Training Session, I would have said it was therapeutic. He was, in many ways, the Mentor that Lethe should have been. He told me to be strong, and he told me to be myself. He may have seen something in me, that killer instinct perhaps, then again maybe not. Maybe he just thought I was a pretty face with bright hair in a sea of drab gloom. He had no right to speak to a girl from Five, when he had his own Tributes to take care of, but for some reason he chose to speak to me. To help me. I can't say that what he did for me had a significant affect on my Games, seeing as all he did was sabotage a mainframe for my session, but I can't speak ill of his actions either. All that matters is that he was there for me, when no one else was. I owe him for that, at least.

It's a strange thing, to survive. You keep going and going, always thinking that you could plummet at any second, but you don't, you just... You keep going. And going, and going, and gone. I didn't think that I would ever see Leon again, let alone be invited to dinner with him. At the time, I didn't really care. I had slumped into a defeatist state of mind, thinking myself already dead before the Games had even really started. I insulted the Capitol, taunted them whilst I still could. It wasn't until the buzzer sounded and we ran towards the Cornucopia that the instinct kicked in. And it wasn't until the buzzer sounded and the killing stopped that I realized how stupid I had been. How costly those impulsive displays of treason were going to be. You keep going, not because you have to, but because you don't have a choice anymore.

District Four is very different to the three Districts I visited before. The ocean is like I dreamed - Vast beyond imagination, shifting and moving with the tides. Galaxy talked of the stars like I dreamed of the sea - Like she would never reach them. Here I stand, staring out at the sea. I win. The salty breeze tickles my autumn hair, and I reach my hand up to brush it back behind my ear, muttering the final words of my speech to District Four.
"Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever." My voice is tired, almost strained. I have been forced to say paragraph after paragraph to one official after the next, shaking hands with mayors and bankers and investors alike. Meals are few and far between, and I don't even want to talk about my sleeping pattern.

I step down from the stage and wait to be escorted away from the judgemental faces of Zelphyr and Jay's families. I killed her, and I don't give a damn. I get to live, so I don't care. I will not be dragged down by twenty-three dead people. I won't become like Lethe Turner or Ruby Millison, burying their pasts to move on. I will use what got me here to be stronger. I embrace killing Zelphyr Bastille, because it would be me being shipped home in a casket, and some other Victor standing in my place, saying the exact same words as me.

Bluefish is a restaurant, not that I was to know that. When I told my escort, he merely nodded and informed me that he already knew, and had put plans into place for me.
"Leon is a charming young man, you will do well to listen to what he has to say. Ripred forbid you screw this up, Patricia!" My escort is to-the-point, as usual. That's about the only thing I like about him, he doesn't bullshit me. I screw up my face, and bite my tongue. Oh the things I would love to say to Tai Dorum, the hassle I could give him. I dare not. I'm on my last warning, according to him, but I haven't even done anything wrong. Since the Games I have been on my best behaviour, not because I chose to act as they tell me, but because they threatened my fucking sister. I have no choice.

No choice in anything anymore. Why would they risk giving me a choice? They know me too well. It's been two months and they know me inside out. They've seen my rebellious side, my ruthless side, my compassionate side, and yes, my weak side. They know how to manipulate me and pull my strings. Blackmail - Toxic and consuming.
"I won't." I mutter, because any other answer isn't good enough for them. Anything less than absolute devotion to their oppressive regime is not acceptable.

We arrive at the restaurant, and not a moment too soon either. Tai's peppermint breath is making me nauseous, as stupid as that sounds. Do you ever think that someone's breath is so fresh that it becomes sweet and sickly? I need empowering salty air. I hear it's good for your health, to live by the ocean. Good for your lungs. Good, because I plan to be breathing for a long while yet. I step out the carriage and away from my escort, towards a rustic but somehow stylish restaurant. It reminds me of the shanty restaurants back home, with cheap neon lights and a gimmicky ornate hanging from the rafters, this time in the form of a smiling swordfish. It certainly has character.

I'm left to my own devices, well, to an extent. Peacekeepers are posted outside, but we have the entirety of the restaurant to ourselves. They won't open to the public with two Victors dining. They wouldn't risk our safety, or the publicity it would cause. No, they'd rather quietly close the place and let us dine in privacy, away from cameras and lights and people. It's the first sensible thing that the Capitol have done on this tour.

I spot Leon, and he greets me with a warm smile. He is as I remember him. Groomed honey hair that looks so sculpted and perfect that I want to grab it with both hands and ruffle it into a frizz. It's human nature to want to destroy perfection. His eyes are deep, sunken, but not tired. His eyebrows are low, making him look like he is frowning, when he is anything but. His lips are big and pale, almost fish like, but not unattractive. His jaw is defined for someone so young, but he has grown into that jawline, losing the babyface he had last year. I saw him on TV, then I saw him in the Training Centre, now I see him here, after the end of all things. It wasn't the end. Maybe I should stop referring to it as the end. No. It's still the end, just not my end.

"It's good to see you out of there," He says with no hint of malice. Cricket was hard to read, almost cryptic in her tone. Leon is straightforward and honest, and that makes me doubt him all the more. There, of course, is the Arena. The cave. It haunts me every second, thinking about that fucking labyrinth. Every time I close my eyes I feel nothing but unrelenting fear pressing against my chest. Stumbling around in the dark, scrambling for life desperately. It was hell. A hell that no other Victor can understand, because it is unique and horrible.

"Sit down and order some food. Ripred knows we deserve it." He gestures, and I take a seat as instructed. I'm so used to being given orders that I don't even realize when I have a choice. I just do what I'm told, like a machine. We deserve it. A meal is my reward for killing, and betraying, and manipulating my fellow Tributes. I deserve more. So much more. Instead of voicing my disdain, I remain relatively quiet. I never used to be shy, and I wouldn't say that I am, but you have to understand that my Games were four weeks ago, and I'm still in a bad place. I have been refrained for weeks, waiting, but I'm not sure what for.

"Thank you." Is all I can muster.

well your left hand's free
and your right's in a grip
with another left hand, watch his right hand slip
towards his gun, oh no

word count: 1435, graphics: rook
theme: left hand free by alt j

♕ { p a t r i c i a v a l f i e r n o} ♕
victor of the 68th annual hunger games

hey shady baby
i'm hot like the prodigal son
pick a petal eenie meenie miney moe
and flower you're the chosen one

"What are you thanking me for?" He says, and the words are so loud and piercing. I wince, fingers fumbling at the seams of my dress. Pulling at threads, tugging for a grip on something. Stupid. I'm so stupid and awkward and false. Patricia Valfierno never held manners in high regard, but now she's some plastic puppet, tangled and tangled and screaming. My face is still, like porcelain, only I'm in the middle of an earthquake, and I'm terrified that I'm going to smash into a million pieces. All I can manage is a stupid little thank you, and even that isn't good enough. Even that makes me look and feel completely stupid.

"It's just dinner." He says, and I want to slap him. I want to slap him so hard, because he knows. He knows what I'm going through. He knows it's not just dinner, it's surviving it, being here to have the dinner. It was just a year ago for him, and has he forgotten so hastily? Is he like Lethe, and Ruby, and Opal? Does he ignore the harsh truths and return to normality, like it never even happened. Just dinner. He has forgotten. Because four weeks ago, I never thought I'd get dinner again. Four weeks ago, I dreamed of being able to do something so hideously normal as order food.

And I do nothing. And I say nothing. It's awful.

The light is dim, and the ambiance feels all wrong. I was hoping this would be a nice, simple dinner, but I can sense the eyes on us. At least they've given us the privacy of being out of earshot. I can speak freely for the first time in a while. Even then, I am afraid to do so. The stakes are so high now. Higher than they were in the Arena, because it's not just my life on the line anymore, but everyone I care about. One wrong move, one bad judgement call, and it all goes to shit. I keep my hands on my lap, and stare at the immaculately clean silverware. I don't belong here. It should be someone else. I feel like a disease, rotting from the inside out.

They told me I would feel like this. They said they had seen it time and time again. Guilt, pain, anger, grief. Again and again, cycling. Mood swings. Spontaneous bursts of emotion. It's normal, they said. It's normal. Perfectly normal to be this broken. Normal. But I'm not another one of their fucking Victors. I'm not the next face on a long line of predictable casualties. I'm me. I'm Trish. I don't feel guilty or grief. I have no regret, and I sure as hell don't mourn any of those twenty-three. Not even Pearl, because in the end, I get to live. That's all that matters. The only thing I feel is anger, so raw and painful, but restrained.

I glance up at Leon. He's an incredibly good looking boy. There was a time where I was into boys like him. Handsome, cheeky, smart. In between working, looking after Rose, and finding a place to sleep for the night, I would get very lonely. Such a sad, lonely creature I was. Often, I had to do things to keep a roof over Rose's head, things with men much older than Leon. But sometimes, I would meet a guy, and it would be mutual. It would be what I needed, and it made me feel just a little bit less alone in this world. Then came the scams, and the troubles, and then the Reaping. Now when I look at Leon, I just feel exposed. Is he undressing me with his beady blue eyes? Am I just a piece of meat that he is buttering up?

"How goes the tour?" He asks, breaking the silence. I feel angry at him, and I know I shouldn't. I know that I'm being judgemental, as always. Presumptuous, angry, cold. I raise my hand to the bridge of my nose and squeeze the sensitive bridge between the eyes, massaging away the dull throbbing. What the hell do I say to that? I can tell him that it's wonderful, and how nice it is to see all the Districts, and pay my respects to the brave fallen Tributes. I can tell him the truth, and say how awful it has been. How unfair that they have thrown me on the road without me being medically cleared. I can say how I have to take high dosages of pain killers every morning to get through my speech without grimacing at every pulse of my heart.

"Your speech was pretty good." He says. He taunts? I frown. I can't quite figure out his tone. Is he mocking me? He knows. Again, he knows. The words aren't mine, no more than they were his last year. And all his smalltalk and niceties piss me off more than Lethe neglecting me in the Training Center. Because maybe he is just being nice, but I'm fed up. I'm tired, and angry, and I want to go home. This dinner was meant to be a slice of normality, but it's just another false event for me to partake in. Maybe Leon is being nice, maybe he isn't. I don't care. I'm done with the polite smiles and the thank you's.

"I'm thanking you for being there for me, when no one else was, Leon," I snap in a hushed voice, "You were the only person in there who seemed to give a damn about me."
My eyes dart from Peacekeeper to Peacekeeper. None turn around, obviously out of earshot. None are looking, at least. They mind their own business. My shoulders relax. I let out a sigh, shrugging off my long blue coat and leaning both my slender forearms on the table.
"The tour is exhausting." I state, looking him in the eyes properly now. Please tell me you're not just another Victor who hides it all away. I thought you were different, Leon.

And maybe he is. And maybe he isn't.

well your left hand's free
and your right's in a grip
with another left hand, watch his right hand slip
towards his gun, oh no

word count: 1015, graphics: rook
theme: left hand free by alt j

♕ { p a t r i c i a v a l f i e r n o} ♕
victor of the 68th annual hunger games

hey shady baby
i'm hot like the prodigal son
pick a petal eenie meenie miney moe
and flower you're the chosen one

Maybe it's because he's so casual that I an on edge. Maybe it's because this has become the norm for him. These topics. These horrible topics are just smalltalk. Ripred damn, fourty six people are dead because of Leon and I. They died at our expense, and here we are talking about it over dinner like it was nothing. Like they died so we could complain about how tired we are, and how exhausting the Victory Tour is. I should be fucking ecstatic just to be alive, but I'm talking like the whole thing is one big inconvenience, and don't get me wrong, it is, just not in perspective to the Games. When I put it next to the hell I went through in that cave, the tour is easy. The easiest thing in the whole world. Smiling and waving and reading from cue cards, and here I am moaning, and here he is agreeing. Galaxy or Pearl or Crusader or Cha or Finn would have killed to be in my position, for fuck's sake they did. Complaining is the last thing I should be doing. It's like complaining about minor aftershocks of a magnitude ten earthquake.

I just don't understand it. This whole situation is fucked. Like, I can't get my head around how I'm supposed to react, or how others have adjusted to it. When I won, they kept saying that it's gonna be hard, and I'm gonna feel bad, and guilty, and depressed. I've had my moments, but in general I've coped okay. It's more the lack of sleep or a break that's eating away at me. It's more that they've forced me into this physically and mentally demanding tour that completely contradicts who I am, without giving me so much as a week's rest. It's unfair, but I know that I'll get through it. It's not like it's the Games, there's no threat here.

And Leon is an example of someone who got through it, but at what cost? What has he become? Does he feel guilty to the point that he hates himself? I don't. I shouldn't feel guilty for staying alive. Me or them, it's always me. I don't have to do anything to justify that to myself, but Leon? What even is Leon Krigel, but a drug addict and a sexual predator. Sure, he's a nice guy when he wants to be, but does he look for extremes to wash over the horrible pain he feels? Why? Why does he need to? He won. He shouldn't have to feel bad for it. He shouldn't let it haunt him. The only thing that haunts me is memories of it. It's only been four weeks, but I've accepted what happened. It's been a year for Leon, and he so clearly hasn't.

"Mm. Well, it doesn't get better," He says, his words tangy and bitter. The way he says it so casually, like he's not even sympathetic. His hand snakes across the table and taps my wrist. I withdraw it from the table. There was a time where I would have grabbed his hand and twisted it over until he apologized, but things are different, and I can't explain it. I'm afraid of physical contact. The display they made me put on in District Two was embarassing enough. Getting the shit beat out of me by a cocky young Career, and then being told that I was a poor excuse for a Victor, when I still had body wounds. That was a low point. I'm broken, but still fragile. Like a smashed vase poorly glued back together.

I'm sure it's just a mental thing. I'm not confident at the moment. Not since winning. People will ask me why not, but they don't get it. They don't get how scarred I am, and even though I'm embracing it and doing my damn-right best to appreciate the fact that I'm alive, that doesn't mean I'm the strong, ruthless, vicious girl in the Arena. I'm on a comedown from that, and it could be a while before I'm confident enough to have the gumption I once did. What did they say it was? Trauma? Shock? The mood swings, anxiety, and complete disconnection with anyone I care about certainly points to that.

"Your escort just gets more annoying with every district and your stylists never allow you to let your hair down." He tells me, listing every little thing that is going to test me, and more than likely piss me off. Yeah, great, thanks Leon, tell me more things that I'm already aware of. He talks to me like I don't know any of this, like I'm a complete idiot. A new kid on the block. He wants to put his arm around me and give me a tour, but I'd rather turn around and go back the way I came. I want nothing to do with Victor life. Absolutely nothing.

I can't tell if he's a friend or a fraud. Maybe I'm too judgemental of people. Pfft, maybe? I judged Pearl before I even knew her. I told her to fuck off back to her Career pack and leave me alone, but she didn't. I'm surprised she gave me a chance, and saw past my snappy and short exterior that seemed to repel everyone else I've ever met. My muscles are tense, and I can't get comfortable in my chair. Every word he says puts me on edge, or makes me grit my teeth. I can't even tell if he's annoying or I'm just feeling tense. Maybe it's a toxic blend of both. He states obvious facts, and treats me like a kid. He's gonna find his dinner date is less talkative.

"And when you get home you'll only get a couple of days of rest before you're going to attend the celebration, and that's always fun. Everyone will want you to give a speech of some sort, so be prepared for your audience." He continues, and I exhale slowly. Of course, my celebration, I can't wait. Having to meet with the other Victors is going to be a pain in the ass, for one. I'm already on bad terms with at least three of them. Opal, Peridot, and Klaus didn't even bother to turn up when I visited their Districts, and Lethe is a big fat no. Cricket I'm hesitant about. She was nice to me, but scared the living shit out of me. Are any of them gonna like me? Not that I care, but it would be nice to find someone I can vent to about the traumatic experience of the Games. Someone who gets it. I'm doubting that Leon can be that person in my life. Maybe the friend I'm looking for hasn't won their Games yet. Tch.

"Sorry to be the one who has to break the news to you, Princess." He says, and it's the most empty apology I've ever heard in my life. Almost as empty as the apologies I gave Galaxy. Fuck, I didn't even apologize. What would be the point, now? She's dead. Dead is dead. At least I didn't let her burn, and die a horribly painful death. Wait, what the fuck even is a horrible death? All death is horrible. Who am I to judge what's a good death and what's a bad death. Dead is dead. I'm pretty sure that when I thrust my blade into her ribcage, it was the most excruciating thing she had ever felt. I expect that when the blood drained form her face and her exhausted heart stopped beating, she felt nothing but absolute horror and pain. Maybe the lava would have been better. Fuck.

Princess? Princess. Condescending prick.
"It's not news." I say, my hand reaching to lift the jug of water at the center of the table, I bring it over my glass and pour myself half a glass, leaving the jug by my side, not offering Leon any. It pisses me off how he thinks he is the all-knowing barer of bad news, and I need to be told this shit. I let my arms rest on the table again, my eyes occasionally catching his. My mind begins to wander to food, and when the hell the waiters are going to come to take our order. Maybe they're letting us catch up first. Catch up with what? I barely know Leon Krigel, apart from a brief meeting in the Training Center.

I look into his eye, and what do I see? Not a silver sword. I sigh heavily, leaning my weight onto my elbows, waiting for time to pass. Waiting for more words to be said, waiting for words to come to me. Some fearsome Victor I am. No terror in his eyes. No silver sword. No regret. What does it all mean, Pearl? What were you trying to say? Maybe it's my eye, and he's got the sword. Maybe it was Galaxy's eye, and my sword? Maybe it's a reminder to keep going. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe.

"What are you having to eat?" I ask. Not being from District Four, my knowledge of what people usually order is limited to fish. Apparently there are thousands of different kinds of fish, all tasting different. I've only had it a few times, once in the Capitol and one time when I was younger. It's not really a luxury, just rare in anywhere other than Four. I'll wait for Leon's advice before I decide what the hell I'm going to have.

well your left hand's free
and your right's in a grip
with another left hand, watch his right hand slip
towards his gun, oh no

word count: 1591, graphics: rook
theme: left hand free by alt j