devils in the canyon | stella 81st

s t e l l a ; 

One quick inhale of the perfumed air as they stepped off of the train and Stella was home.

Well, home existed in the heart, in the arms, of a certain blonde gossip columnist, but that was neither here nor there. Her home - the Victor’s mansion, her dance studio, a penthouse apartment for a few months every year - that all existed in a space out of time. Home was where Ex was and Stella would follow her to the ends of the world if she just said the word. The dispensation for travel between districts was still a messy grey area and Stella knew that Snow would never allow her to make her home full-time in the Capitol, but wouldn't that be more ideal for him? Tentacles of control grow weaker like smoke the further away they are from the nerve-center. Why not have them permanently housed, chained to the Capitol. They had already sacrificed their lives and souls? What more would a change in zip code do? 

On second thought, where the fuck was her girlfriend? Her last texts had been vague. Swallowing back questions and insecurities, Stella gulped down a shot of whiskey before fixing her red lipstick, the endless ministrations from her teeth always giving her stylist a migraine. Change wasn’t easy for Stella Blakesley. Not anymore. Not after she froze, burned, combusted and metamorphosized in the name of glory. Good habits and bad, they were hers.

Stella’s return to the Capitol was met with equal parts fanfare and trepidation. The gracious gift that President Snow had bestowed upon the tributes in 80th Games (and at this, Stella had snorted into her champagne) was perhaps the cruelest joke imaginable. Enough time had been spent worrying about Carter and Hell. They were alive. Were they whole? Was anyone? Certainly her tributes this Games would not enjoy the same fate. 

Stella shook hands and smiled through the endless photographs, eyes scanning the crowd for the blonde head that was no doubt snooping around for the next big scoop after she had failed to catch wind of the twist in the 80th. They had all been transfixed on the final battle at the end, only for the Vault to be opened, secrets and the dead spilling forth in fanfare. Wrapped in halos of gold and smiles made of skin that was the property of the Capitol for evermore, those kids had deserved better. Suffering and retribution, but at what cost? Many, many phone calls and texts later and Stella knew that the twist was a thorn in Ex’s side, a failure that she could not swallow.

“Damnit.” the blonde whispered to herself as she failed to see her girlfriend materialize in the crowd. As if her heart could call Ex forward like a siren song whenever she was in the proximity of the Capitol. If only, if only.

She was immediately pulled to the side, tripping slightly over the six-inch stilettos that Bellezze had put her in, clutching the blue-haired Capitolite next to her before she face-planted into the cobblestone sidewalk.

Stella Blakesley, back in the Capitol and already head-over-heels for the next Games! she knew the caption would read. Probably some drivel that ALL CAPS would put out.

The ride from District Twelve had been...tense was perhaps the easiest word. Nico Thorne was sullen and silent, his gaunt cheeks echoing torments and torture that Stella knew only too well. When you spent fifteen years craving bread and meals that you knew would only come when Father brought home a paycheck, that hunger never dies.

He wears his arrogance like armor and it will serve him well, but he couldn’t care less about a mentor.  She should have warned him what confidence will do to a tribute. She should have made him eat his words like a poisoned apple, but perhaps she could get through to him in the weeks she had before the Bloodbath.

She was never going to be his equal, but that did not mean that she wouldn’t fight like hell to keep his handsome, insolent ass alive. She would prostitute herself for sponsors for him, everyone selling something - whether it was sex, lies, promises. No different than those who inhabited the Capitol’s red light districts, everyone was for sale.

Those who promised deliverance, who promised victory, who looked down on them for what they had and what they sold, who backs up their words? Who deems them worthy?

Stella could charm them with heavy-lidded eyes, rhythm in her words, courage in her veins, liquor flowing through her bloodstream. She was a murder, a thief in a stolen home, lying and disguising herself. She was a fire that shouldn’t have burned, an ocean that shouldn’t have raged, a field of dead flowers. She was whatever they wanted her to be in that moment to keep her tributes alive. Her head wore a weary crown for a year before it was passed on to Mackenzie Pryce and her neck still broke, still ached to think about the weight that she still carried.

Jayne Ashbrooke-Laws was a different story - she was kind, quiet, wearing the death of Mitchell Laws on her sleeve and Stella knew in that moment that her two charges were wounded, not critically, but wounded even before they had stepped foot into the opulence of the Capitol and the rigors of the Games. She would have her hands full this year. It was never an easy task to be a District Twelve tribute. They never had the upbringing, but they were working with a less than full deck at the outset. Stella would try her best to give them whatever gifts they deserved before paying silent tribute to their wooden coffins on the train home. 

A hand through her hair. A fake smile adorning her face, her cheeks pulling taut at the thought of the mosaic of a girl she had been crafted into. Whole, alive, broken, damaged.

Stella let go of the Capitolite, thanking him for catching her with a bark of laughter before she dusted off the red dress that was wrapped around her like armor.

No amount of preparation and alcohol could ready her for the moment that her eyes found Ex’s.

She was Helen of Troy, the catalyst, her touch launching a thousand ships. She was Persephone, roses curling off of her fingertips. Stella would never tire of those eyes on her and the smile that crept up Ex’s lips was worth the six months she had waited to see her again. The world was no longer spinning off of its axis and time felt like a flat circle as she approached the older blonde, her heart beating so loud in her ears that she knew that Ex would smell the trepidation, the longing, the love pouring out of her before she could even say a word.

"Well at least this year the only twist I'm worried about is you." Smirky smile. As if Stella wasn't wrapped around her little finger. As if Stella wasn't branded with President's Snows face ane Ex's name in her heart like a martyr's prayer. Oh, Stella was a lost cause the moment she had set her eyes on the blonde. 

"Me? Unpredictable? Darling, you're projecting."

“You are such a sight for sore eyes,” Stella breathed, her voice hoarse because she had absolutely no chill when it came to Ex. Their age, their upbringing - everything screamed fucking for fun but Stella knew that the woman before her understood her in ways that she did not understand herself. Stella’s mind flashed to nights that they had spent learning each other, body, mind and soul. She couldn't think of the nightmares now, not when Ex was in her arms and the camera bulbs were flashing around them. The older blonde just that much taller because of course she wanted the upper hand. Never forgetting that Stella had survived a frozen wasteland, small flecks of white snow dropped on them as they posed for photographs. Stupid but on brand for the Capitol, even if the rumors had it that the arena this year was going to be a wasteland. Another chance to prolong the narrative. 

"I've missed you. Shall I whisk you away from all this?"  she said loudly, grasping Stella's hand and pulling her away from the fray.  The Capitol and its hunger for bloodshed could wait for the night. 

---

The bloodbath had all the promises and whisperings to deliver them the bodies that had been neglected in recent Games but the death of Myrcella Hudson was a shock to the system. A variable that they had not accounted for. The odds were changed in a flash as Stella gulped down champagne by the glassful.  Jayne was able to escape relatively unscathed but Nico, fucking Nico.  

She set down her drink and instantly got to work, smoothing her dress to hide shaking fingers. He might not last the night but his allies were smart, able.  He need something more though and hours of pleading and money changing hands for the promise of a double date (Ex would certainly kill her) she was able to get the poor boy some bandages and a medkit, iodine tablets arriving in another day if the bleeding didn't kill him first. 

She was foolish to think that she could save him, that she needed to save him. Nico Thorne needed nothing from her, but she was willing to give him everything if it meant he would see the forest once again. 

Teddy joined her most nights in the study that she had made her own the previous Games, always arriving with a bottle of red wine. Stella never refusing him.  They seek comfort in the familiar and this routine that they had built served them both well. 

Most of the times they sat in silence - two lost and lonely angels watching over their charges, dark curtains falling between them as the chaos swelled to a fever pitch. They barely spoke except to suck in breath, raise a glass to a fallen tribute - Day Three had nearly broken her. Six tributes in the span of eight hours, the cannon working overtime.

"Gratuitous bloodshed, Snow must be creaming in his pants," Stella whispered to Teddy, a wry chuckle on her lips as she held the wineglass next to her face. 

"It never fucking stops, does it?"

Day Four brought rest and respite, but you were foolish if you believed that you could outrun death in the Arena. The ferryman always came calling and debts had to be collected. 

Day Five dawned and the feast was called.   She knew what was coming. Her ribcage was filled with flowers but they were dead, dead.