Octavia Strauss Forty Nine Female District Two Ex-career Part of the sibling trio that runs the Strauss house siblings to Killian and Victor they have a lot of adopted kids make them train like bitch ass careers she teaches them to dress and talk like bosses hates them all tbh social queen loves to play the social game ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ My wrist, stop watchin', my neck is flossy Make big deposits, my gloss is poppin' You like my hair? Gee, thanks, just bought it I see it, I like it, I want it, I got it (Yeah) ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫
Come away little lamb Come away to the water Give yourself so we might live a new Come away little lamb Come away to the slaughter
When she was younger she had dreamed of the Capitol Skyline. Her parents, Hera and Thelonius Strauss had made sure her dreams had been filled with radiating images of beauty. The walls of her bedroom had been an iridescent scene of light, stretching of towering buildings, edged by a flowing river. In the centre stood a victor, crown glowing, breathing light into the people that kneeled around her. At the age of eighteen she had torn it all down, her sword slicing into the wallpaper until there was nothing but scattered remains of a forgotten memory.
Or so she had hoped.
The memory had continued to linger, her parents fading into nothingness, greeting the darkness with eagerness. Their disgust had been evident, and she had fallen, a warrior princess no more instead pushed aside as her younger brother Victor had taken the spotlight. There, another hope for their dreams and glory of becoming Capitolites simmered and failed. By the time Killian was eighteen it was evident that their parents had failed, there would be no victor in the Strauss family whilst they lived.
Then Hera and Thelonius Strauss died. And Octavia decided that she wanted to be a queen.
They’d promised her the world, riches, and glory and she’d held herself back from standing up before the crowds of district two and volunteering. Over the years she had seen other Careers volunteer, welcomed into the open arms of their parents and the Capitol, taken away to the slaughter. Only two fools had come home, in a sea of arrogance, and even a lifetime of training couldn’t promise them victory. It was a death sentence, wrapped in misleading truths and half lies. Too many of them could only see the crown upon their head, leagues of adoring fans bowing before them like the pictures on her walls. The truth was cruel, it was a grave and a memory soon forgotten the following year.
Hypocrisy ruled her life now, a promise between her siblings that they would create what they hadn’t been able to achieve. Even if she didn’t believe in it, she would sure as hell drag the world down to stand by her side. She’d have her crown, made from broken bones and bleeding wounds, but at the end of all of it, it would sit on her head.
She painted the picture of a calculating and cold bitch in front of the children. She enjoyed punishing them and found a cane a handy weapon of choice to carry with her wherever she went. There was pleasure in treating the children like they were toys. She viewed them as beings below herself and was a relentless storm of harsh words and a whip-like tongue that promised a beating if they did not listen. In reality, she hated them all, hated their youth, their emotions, and fragility. She had never been so broken as they were.
Octavia found joy in deciding their fates, instilling fear with the promise of death. There was an edge of realism in their lives, a fight for survival that a normal Career did not get. This program was a gift, a promise of betterment, and a future. If they were reaped or volunteered they had training and realism that no other child in the district would receive. She taught the children lessons in social prowess, how their images could decide their fate as much as their ability to throw a knife. No one sponsored the ordinary, so she made them at least capable of pretending they were extraordinary.
On the other side of the picture, when she was not stalking the halls of her mansion, she was a social queen. Enthralled with a desire to be a Capitolite her cupboard was filled with colourful outfits. She matched each outfit against her brown hair and tan skin, colours that made her glow and shine. Her smile was the light of the parties she attended within the flamboyant houses of District Two. She was crowned royalty, invited to every party, nails painted another colour, a pattering of makeup to hide a weathered face.
Her frosty lips melted in the presence of the familiar, and she was a beacon of light, a hint of sassiness and a ferociousness that warned you not to mess with her. Wine glasses and delicate small talk were merely a wordsmiths weapon of choice at her age. She might have never been in the Arena, but she played another game now, one that promised a quick and painful fall into becoming no one if played incorrectly.
She was no victor, but she was definitely wearing a crown. The wallpaper in her room might have told one type of story, but she would tell another. The house at the edge of district two contained her future, and she would make one of them royalty with her.