green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia}

rook
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green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia} Aug 16, 2020 18:02:52 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 16, 2020 18:02:52 GMT -5

♕ patricia valfierno ♕

victor of the sixty-eighth hunger games

I'm uncomfortably full. The fragrant roast lamb feast that Katelyn slaved over sits heavy in my stomach, and with no wine to wash it down with on account of my abstinence, I feel so bloated that I want to collapse onto one of the many chaise lounges that the Capitol insists in putting in every room and hallway in a five mile radius.

I already know my fate for this evening will be me slumped in my armchair back on floor five in a haze of smoke, watching analysis and punditry on Emmett and Kenji's fight, and a big part of me is itching to get back down there and see if the kid has done enough, or if he's face down in the dirt, resigned to another name on a long list of the dead.

I hope he pulled through, he's our only shot given how fucking useless and miserable Lysander is. Ripred, that girl.

I stumble through the red carpets and eggshell walls of Eleven's living quarters, a great number of doors staring back at me unlabeled and each identical to the last. I look over my shoulder back to the dining hall and consider backtracking to ask exactly where the bathroom is, but pride gets the better of me, and I venture onwards in search of the bathroom. The last thing I want is to stumble back in there and see Katelyn and Opal sucking each-others faces like teenagers.

I tentatively push at the nearest door to me, but it won't budge at all - firmly locked. Kate mentioned that Harbinger and Kirito were both out tonight, I guess that explains that. Eleven's fabled trilogy of Victors are so sought after every year for interviews, galas, high profile events, or even to give their opinions on the Games on-air with Flickerman and Templesmith. I don't envy them at all, and my personality got me off the media ticket nice and early in my time as a Victor.

I try the next door, and this one swings open. But it's not the bathroom. It's a bedroom. And there, slumped on the carpet leaning against her bed-frame is the slight figure of Kassandra Nerys. The girl who fell from space. Her prosthetic arm is detached and lying lifeless on the floor as she flicks furiously at a screen, her face lighting up rapidly with different colours as she does so.

"Oh, sorry. I thought this was the bathroom." I break my own awkward silence.

A digging guilt blooms in my chest as I realise that I had completely forgotten that Kassandra even existed. Her Games were at the peak of my substance abuse issues, and I was in rehab for her Victory Tour. Whenever I think of Eleven, my mind skips straight to Kate, Harb, and Kirito. I had forgotten that she was even from the same District as them at all.

Kate didn't even mention her at dinner.

I feel bad, like she's been shoved up here out of the way because she's not as glamorous as the famous three. Because she's young, feisty, and a little rough around the edges. Not built for the puff-pieces and press panels that her co-victors so frequently attend.

"Do you mind if I smoke out your window?" I ask boldly to the girl who's stark face I've not seen up-close and in person before tonight. I take a half-step into her room and pull a pack of cigarettes from my denim jacket pocket and point them at her window like an extension of my finger. The bathroom was always an excuse to feed a dirty habit.

Last Edit: Aug 16, 2020 18:05:42 GMT -5 by rook

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

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green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia} Aug 18, 2020 10:43:25 GMT -5

Post by sbeeg on Aug 18, 2020 10:43:25 GMT -5

Kass threw herself on top of the blankets, shoving her face against the white fabric scented with synthetic lavender and faux vanilla. Her throat burned and she wished she hadn't said anything at all. Katelyn had a way of taking her words and making it feel like she was overreacting. Like her pain could be fixed with an ice cream cone and some kind words. The roots of Kass' sorrow went far deeper than that.

She shut her eyes trying to think of something else, anything to take her mind off of the thoughts running through her head but they wouldn't leave. She ran her hands over her eyes, sending green stars across her vision. Her metal hand moved too quickly, the precise movements still off without flesh and nerves to guide it. Her steel palm whacked her eye socket hard enough to bruise.

The tiny victor let out a string of curses as she stood up and wrestled with the limb. She yanked at the buttons of her dress to reach the buckle beneath it releasing the heavy machinery from her shoulder. It hit the ground with a loud thud. Loud enough that Kass expected someone to check on her but no one did.

She kicked her arm aside and dropped to the floor. She leaned against frame of her bed, listening to conversation in the common area. She heard Katelyn in the kitchen, smelled the dinner she was preparing. She heard Opal's laugh and Katelyn's chuckle join in together. Kass reached for her info pad. She planned on ordering food just to show how little she wanted to eat whatever Katelyn was making but after scrolling through the options she became overwhelmed. Kass didn't know how she liked her steak or how to eat lobster out of the shell. She quickly closed the tab and pulled up games footage instead.

She watched the fights for a while, flickering through the camera angles of the large battle Arabella and Cyro were in. However as the light outside dimmed she began scrolling through the feeds, switching between the same cameras knowing there would be no difference from when she had last checked. She stabbed the screen focusing on the tributes instead of the muffled conversation outside her door.

That is until her door swung open. She looked up ready to reject whatever baked peace offering Katelyn had brought and found a stranger in the door frame.

"Oh, sorry. I thought this was the bathroom."

There was a roughness to her that grabbed Kass' attention immediately. She was around Persimmon's age with hair so light it was almost white. She wore a denim jacket that looked worn around the edges.

She vaguely remembered Persimmon mentioning she was having a guest over, another victor. But there were so many victors Kass could hardly keep up with each face especially when the pictures used for their games were when they were younger. This was not a face she had seen before, at least not this closely. She was not at Kass' bedside when she woke after winning. She didn't stop by to try to offer wisdom to a broken child. She was not one of the usual ones that mingled at the parties draped in Capitol style.

She held herself completely differently from the District Eleven victors. Kass would call most of her older victors stoic, or at least attempting it. This woman was something else.

"Do you mind if I smoke out your window?" the woman asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her pocket. Kass followed the movement, watching her finger point to the large window on the other side of Kass' room.

Kass peered around the woman's legs to the common rooms to check if Persimmon or Opal were watching. They were away from the bedroom doors, probably clinking wine glasses in the kitchen and smiling at each other like a stock photo for happy victorhood.

"I don't mind," Kass said, grabbing the bed to pull herself to her feet. "As long as I get one."

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green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia} Aug 19, 2020 16:54:44 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 19, 2020 16:54:44 GMT -5

♕ patricia valfierno ♕

victor of the sixty-eighth hunger games

Her face is a resting scowl with wild eyes and a feral curiosity that I sense as she looks me up and down, and decides if I'm welcome in her safehaven of bedsheets, smart-tablets, and silence. With her one attached arm she pulls herself to the edge of her bed and falls onto her feet, and it's then I realise just how small she is. The top of her head barely reaches my chin.

"I don't mind," She says, giving me free reign to smoke to my heart's content, "As long as I get one."

Some nagging part of my brain moves to ask aren’t you a little young to smoke? But I can remember a homeless girl smoking a pack a day at fourteen whilst simultaneously trying to make enough money by scamming cartel lackeys to feed her sister, and I figure I’m no hypocrite. So with a half-shrug of my head I extend my arm and offer Kassandra the open packet of dry cigarettes to the young girl.

"Sure, knock yourself out." I say, waiting for her to take one.

Once she's selected hers, I take one for myself and place it loosely between my lips. I pause, thinking about how much Katelyn's goodwill and newfound friendship would shrivel up and turn to ash quicker than the sickly stick in my mouth if she were to walk upstairs and see me smoking with her little pet project. She'd call me a bad influence, probably curse me and say how after all the hospitality extended to me, I'd gone and thrown in all away in an instant.

And I don't care.

Not everything can be solved with three course meals, vintage wine, and extra rosemary seasoning. Not everything even needs to be solved. Sometimes a girl wants a cigarette. Who am I? The great mediator? Fuck no. I'm not here to guide or advise or positively influence anyone bar those two poor souls who are reaped each year.

Kass did her time, she can have whatever the hell she wants.

I move to the window and grip the handle, pressing in the lock and opening it outwards. There's a nice little inside windowsill to sit on and stare out at the glowing Capitol skyline. The smells of the streets below pour into Kassandra's bedroom - sweet pretzels and sour exhaust fumes. The noise of vehicles blaring horns and people screaming with a mixture of terror and delight. The madness of the Capitol from the safety of the ultimate penthouse. Or prison, however you wanna look at it.

I take the lime-green lighter from my denim jacket pocket, taking a second to look at the grinning fish illustration printed on the side - a souvenir from Four. I drag my thumb quickly against the rough spark wheel, igniting the tip of my cigarette and taking in the first few breaths of heavy stale smoke.

"Catch." I toss her the lighter, forgetting that she's currently only got one arm.

I bring my knees up onto the windowsill, making sure to leave enough room for Kass to sit, unless she chooses to smoke on her bed instead and likely set off her own smoke-alarm, getting everyone on the Eleventh floor soaking wet. Which I wouldn't blame her for, for the record.

I stare out at the streets far below and think about what Opal said. Do you think it was worth it? There's air in my lungs, behind all the smoke and grief. Blood in my veins, tainted by substance abuse and an alcohol problem, but now clean. I am alive.

So yes.

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

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green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia} Aug 20, 2020 10:22:47 GMT -5

Post by sbeeg on Aug 20, 2020 10:22:47 GMT -5

She was prepped for a lecture. For another long winded speech on why Kass should be better than the rest of the Victors. She expected the same tense expression that overcame their faces when she ordered champagne. All these adults know how to send a kid off to die but no idea how to deal with one living beside them. Kass is sure it is because of her background. She has no parents to go back to so everyone feels like they need to parent her. Every knowing glance Katelyn gives her that sees nothing inside of her. Every kind word and shoulder pat.

All of these victors want so desperately to fill a void but only the outward facing part. The smiling and family dinners not any of the actual hard parts. They'll do that for their own children, maybe, but not anyone else.They want her as a prop not a person.

Instead there is no lecture. She leans the pack out offering them to Kass. No warning, no preface just agreement.

Kass feels like she can finally breathe. Greedy fingers grab a cigarette from the bunch. Persimmon would be so angry and it only makes Kass small grin larger. If she was old enough to murder she was certainly old enough for a smoke.

Kass fiddles with the cigarette, unsure of what to do next. She watches the older victor balance one between her lips and cross to the window. Kass quickly copies her, pressing the cigarette to her mouth. The paper sticks to the wet inside of her lip. It tastes earthy.

She watches carefully as pale fingers pull out a lighter. She leans into the flame before snapping it closed and tossing it towards Kass.

”Catch.”

There is a small moment of panic as the tiny metal box flies through the air. She tries to move her right arm to catch it but it’s been gone for years. Her left hand reaches up to grab it but it’s too late. It bounces off her palm and clatters to the floor. She quickly grabs it off the floor, looking at the design on the side. It’s colorful with an absurd cartoonish fish on the side. It’s tacky but she likes it.

She copies the movements she watched before, flipping open the top and running her thumb over a small wheel. The grooves bite into her thumb and it takes more than a few tries before she is able to get the spark to catch. She watches the tiny lick of flame and for a moment she is not in the Capitol. She is strangled and choked in purple robes floating above the ground unable to hold onto anything.

She leans into the fire and feels the heat against her cheek as she presses the end of her cigarette into the flame. The metal snaps closed and she realizes how dark it is in her room. She’d stormed off in a huff in the afternoon and it was well into evening now. She moved to sit on the windowsill closer to the every present glow of Capitol advertisements and looked down at the street below. They were high up on the eleventh floor but she could see lights flickering. Kass could even make out the colors of some outrageous hats and headpieces that the Capitolites insisted on wearing. Maybe it was just for this reason, for the chance that someone might see them from so high up.

She chances a glance at the woman beside her and realizes she doesn’t know her name. Kass quickly pulls the cigarette from her mouth, her hand stiff and awkward as she holds it outside the window. Ash falls from the end of it as it burns without anyone actually smoking it.

”I’ve met a lot of Victors but I don’t think I’ve met you yet,” Kass said. Her brain tries to move the arm she’s left on the floor to shake her hand but there’s only air beside her. Instead she moves on. Handshakes are for old men anyway. ”I’m Kass by the way.”

She wonders if it is easier to remember the victors that come after you. She knows Ridley and Beck well. Their faces were plastered over everything in the Capitol, even napkins, for a stretch. But there were so many before her. So many haunted faces trying to hold it together by baking bullshit or simply failing. They all blended together into the same dark eye circles and frown lines.

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Last Edit: Aug 20, 2020 10:24:22 GMT -5 by sbeeg

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green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia} Aug 21, 2020 9:56:35 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 21, 2020 9:56:35 GMT -5

♕ patricia valfierno ♕

victor of the sixty-eighth hunger games

I feel a heaviness in my chest when I think of not being in Five for the girl's victory tour, but so many have come and gone year on year and it doesn't mean anything. Lethe and I are older now, we don't move in the circles that the younger victors from the late-seventy games do. Every year the victor's seem younger and younger to me, and I find myself having less and less to say to them. That comes with the territory of our greatest reward - we're allowed to grow old.

It's a dry night, but overcast with a firm wind that howls and presses against the window creaking frames of the eleventh floor. The windows don't open far enough for anyone to ever be in any danger, or for any Tributes to try and earn themselves a pre-Games death. Still, I feel a sense of vertigo in my stomach as I peer down at the streets far, far below - the tiny capitolites criss-crossing like ants on a garden path.

I draw my hand to my lips again, inhaling through the cigarette and letting the putrid smoke lift the heaviness on my crippled chest. My lungs feel warm and my anxieties are smothered all too effectively. I watch as Kass lights her own, mimicking my movements like she's not done this before. I doubt she has, given her age and who is supervising her.

I guess I was lucky to have freedom.

"I've met a lot of Victors but I don't think I've met you yet," She breaks the silence in the dim light of her bedroom. The dark shadows of her face are highlighted by the orange glow of our cigarettes.

"I'm Kass by the way." She introduces herself politely, and I find it refreshingly genuine. Like she's ignoring the fact that her face was all over every screen in Panem for the best part of a year.

"Trish." I half-smile behind my cigarette and a mask of smoke.

I'm almost glad there are victors now who weren't born when I won my Games. Kids who didn't grow up with images of me stabbing Cha through the eye, or drowning Crusader with my bare hands. There's no silent judgement from this girl - she has no clue what I've done. She only knows what I am, because she's one too.

After another drag I stick my arm out the window and flick the ash out into the abyss, watching as the wind scatters it down the street. I glance at the tablet left on the bed, images of the games flash, but I'm too near-sighted to make out the figures still dancing on the screen. Kenji will have killed Emmett, of that I'm pretty sure - the kid knows how to survive. It's not him I'm concerned about. I look at the girl across from me, still figuring out how to smoke her cigarette.

"Do you know if Lysander is still alive?" I ask, and I find myself holding my breath as I wait for this young teenager sitting in the darkness of the eleventh floor to confirm one way or another.

Last Edit: Aug 21, 2020 10:33:03 GMT -5 by rook

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

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green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia} Aug 21, 2020 14:39:33 GMT -5

Post by sbeeg on Aug 21, 2020 14:39:33 GMT -5

"Trish."

The name leaves her mouth on a cloud of smoke. Some tendrils slip out of the window and others swirl up towards the ceiling. She likes the name. It both fits the woman in front of her and is also a complete juxtaposition. Women that look like that have fun interesting names like kids from the career districts. Names that sparkle and shimmer and catch attention. Trish is not glamorous. It doesn't pull attention although Kass knows that years ago it had. Before she was even born Trish had gone through the same revolving door of fame. The name couldn't be escaped. It was in halls of fame and statistic walls.

Kass is quiet, simply watching her and taking her in. Maybe she had been locked in with the District Eleven trio for too long and any outside face was interesting to her now. Except for Opal, she didn't count since her face was constantly attached to Katelyn's.

"Do you know if Lysander is still alive?"

Kass followed her gaze to the tablet tossed aside on the unmade bed.

"She's fine," Kass snorted. "Barely anyone noticed her while they were killing that kid from seven."

It was brash language, the kind that tended to make the Eleven compartments tense. Kass had been surprised when Arabella's blade found its home in Hellemine's face. Kass was convinced she wouldn't last long from all her blubbering on the train but the Games are full of twists.

There was a strange sense of poisoned pride in her chest. The same kind that swelled over her heart in the Arena whenever a life ended and she moved past their corpse to another day.

She flicked the ash off the end of her cigarette and brought it to her lips taking an experimental inhale. It immediately burned her throat but it wasn't entirely unpleasant. She held it in her lungs enjoying the warmth until a cough tickled her throat. She tried to hold it back, furrowing her brow as if she could silence her lungs by will alone. Kass coughed out a bit of smoke before immediately taking another pull from the cigarette.

She liked the warmth of it filling her chest. Kass had spent the most important days of her life in the cold void of space and then in the presence of the ice queen herself and it felt so good to have a touch of warmth in the clean white Capitol apartments. Like the sun shining down on the yard outside of the orphanage staining freckles across her shoulders before she realized just exactly how cruel she could be.

"Are you worried about her?" she asks after a long exhale.

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green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia} Aug 21, 2020 17:36:54 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 21, 2020 17:36:54 GMT -5

♕ patricia valfierno ♕

victor of the sixty-eighth hunger games

"She's fine." Kass confirms, and the tension building in my neck eases.

For now. I catch myself adding.

"Barely anyone noticed her while they were killing that kid from seven." She continues with indifference in her voice, like it really was nothing more than a television show. She talks about the Games like older Victors do - like she's moved on and accepted the way that things are, rather than letting PTSD keep you in your dorm room, or overcompensate in trying to help the next batch from your District survive because of your own guilt.

Kass seems so over it, and it's only been a few short years. I kind of admire her. It's the best way to cope.

The sound of coughing fills the room as Kass navigates her way through her first cigarette, exploring what it's doing to her body and her lungs. When I smoked my first cig I coughed so much I threw up in a backalley. She's doing well considering.

Maybe I've made an addict of her - one more thing on my conscience. Well, If I didn't, then someone else would have. She would have tried it eventually, one way or another, and she could easily have said no if she didn't want to smoke. So that's not on me, no matter what Katelyn may tell me two weeks down the line from now.

Kass won her life back, so let her die a little from time to time.

"Are you worried about her?" Kass recovers, and turns to me.

"Kinda," I say, pausing for a few seconds whilst I try to process how I really feel about Lysander, "I'm not really sure."

She's a fucking mess, with no respect for herself. I am glad she is still alive though.

I've been doing this for seventeen years now. I've been a mentor for more of my life than I haven't. You see Tributes come and go, some show promise, some don't - they all die in the end. It's the hope that kills you, especially with someone like Kenji who I see so much of myself in. When someone like that gets put in front of you, you can't help but hope they have a chance of making it out alive. But hope, as we all know, is dangerous.

I look at Kass and it strikes me just how young she is - is she younger than her own Tributes even? It wouldn't surprise me.

"Have they asked you to help with any of that?" I ask, knowing that the combined experience of Katelyn, Harbinger, and Kirito dwarfs that of little Kassandra Nerys, on paper. I wonder if they asked her for her input, or shoved her up here alone in her room like a scolded schoolchild.

They all wear the same blood-soaked crown, after all.

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

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green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia} Aug 24, 2020 9:40:22 GMT -5

Post by sbeeg on Aug 24, 2020 9:40:22 GMT -5

A series of emotions flicker across Patricia's face and Kass can't read them. She's unsure how the victor feels about her tribute but there are no easy feeling in the Capitol. Kass thinks about Cyro and Arabella.

And the she thinks of Milo and Asari. Of Alfonso and Sarina. Their names brought up feelings but she no words to describe them. She could only think of the tension in her chest when she Milo begged someone to save him. How the name Rhodes rattled around her ears before she understood its gravity. The look on Vasco Izar's face when the Reaping took so much from him.

It was easier this year. Cyro and Arabella were nothing to Kass. They weren't anyone's children, they didn't wiggle their way into her heart on the train or during opening ceremonies. The only snag was Cyro's child left back home in District Eleven. She didn't want to to make another orphan but it was clear the child would be taken care of in the event of his death.

If only every orphan's parents could die in a such a public manner then maybe none of them would be forgotten.

"Have they asked you to help with any of that?"

"Oh, uh not really," Kass said, rising from the window seat and wandering around the bed forgetful of the cigarette between her fingers. "They have a whole system. I chime in but if I'm being honest I don't know what's going on."

Kass had such high hopes for her time in the Capitol. How she would help the rebellion back in Eleven with her improved connections and opportunities. Except who wanted to talk to a teenager? Kass knew how to sell card readings to farmers in Eleven not revolution to comfortable Capitolites. She'd gathered next to no sponsorship for any tributes despite many attempts and now she'd simply given up. Why talk to a temperamental child stuttering over words when you can have drinks with the D11 Trio.

Her throat felt thick with failure. She paced near her nightstand and caught sight of her deck of tarot cards.

"Do you want a reading?" Kass asked shoving the cigarette between her lips and plucking up the deck. It was ratty after time in the Arena, with a few stiff new cards to replace all the ones she'd left behind. She hadn't touched them lately they didn't bring as much comfort as they once had but they felt familiar in her hand in the way Patricia's cigarette did not.

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green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia} Aug 24, 2020 14:55:46 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 24, 2020 14:55:46 GMT -5

♕ patricia valfierno ♕

victor of the sixty-eighth hunger games

No one ever asked me to step up after winning. There was a void and I stepped into it because it felt like the right thing to do. It's different for Kass, she has three Victors ten years prior to her with combined experience that dwarfs hers - she doesn't need to contribute, because Eleven's Tributes are already in very capable hands. I just hope they haven't pushed her aside.

Arabella and Cyro are lucky really, they have fantastic support and a good range of Victors to lend advice - from Katelyn's gritty survival instincts, to Harbinger's brute strength and combat ability, to Kirito's speed and ruthlessness. I'm sure in time, and if she wants to, Kass will offer plenty to the future tributes of Eleven too - even if it's just a few words of support or encouragement, it's a huge comfort when you're facing oblivion.

Must have been nice.

"Oh, uh not really," She confirms, "They have a whole system. I chime in but if I'm being honest I don't know what's going on."

I nod slowly, watching this small girl in front of me stand up and wander over to her bed, her cigarette sitting dead in her mouth like a lollipop. She paces her bedroom, and just like with Beck I think of how small and young she is, and when I contrast that with the images fed through to our television screens it's a gory juxtaposition of cozy pyjamas against blood-soaked uniforms and steel on steel.

I look at my palm, the one that isn't synthetic - the scars are pen on paper, sin written forever in the blank page of my youth. It never leaves you, or gets any smaller, you just get better at telling your guilt to fuck off.

"Do you want a reading?"

I look up to see her holding a pack of cards. The tarot cards - the ones she had in the arena. I never imagined she'd keep them, but thinking about it I guess I'd do the same if I had taken anything into the arena. Closest thing I have to anything from that cave is the diamond tattoo on my left tricep - everything else is locked inside my broken little brain.

A reading, huh? What kind of reading would it be, I wonder? What kind of person I really am? - That's not a question I need answering. My future? - Equally terrifying. Not that any of it is true, it's just cards with pictures on them drawn at random and interpreted to fit the individual.

I used to con people all the time, and there were all sorts of so-called psychics and fortune tellers on the streets of Five who wanted my coin, all who claimed they could lead me to riches, or tell me which man I would end up marrying. I found it laughable.

You can't con a con-artist.

But I'm not going to crush Kass' spirit, and I'm willing to suspend my belief to get to see her doing what she's famous for - y'know other than the whole murdering three people thing. Maybe I'll even get to know her a little better in the process.

"Yeah, alright." I reach out the window and snuff the end of my cigarette on the concrete ledge, letting it sit there as my monument to the Capitol.

I kick off my boots and stretch my toes out, enjoying the simple comfort of my pink socks on soft carpet after a tiring day. Feeling a little warm and claustrophobic in Kass' sleeping quarters, I take off my denim jacket and sling it over a chair, sitting down on the carpet with my legs half-crossed. I'm about as flexible as an anchor, so my knees point forty-five degrees and my back aches a little as I try to get comfortable on Kass' floor, but it's better than a cave, so I don't complain. Never complain.

"I'm sure it's nothing worse than what people already tell me."

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

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green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia} Aug 25, 2020 17:22:02 GMT -5

Post by sbeeg on Aug 25, 2020 17:22:02 GMT -5

Kass grinned as Patricia snuffed out her cigarette and took a seat on the floor. She sat in front of her leaving plenty of space between them to display the reading. She started the familiar routine of shuffling only to realize half of her was missing. Kass gave her arm a quick look before deciding trying to pull it on in Patricia's presence would be far too much for today.

"Shuffle these please," she said, handing the deck out. It would be better if Trish handled the cards anyway. Then they'd really get to know her.

Kass watched the woman's movements as the cards, a mix of the ratty deck she took into the arena and the new stiff painted ones she had made since winning. She had a complicated relationship with them. At times they seemed to lay out her heart, baring it to the world in faded paint, and other times they were simply a tool to get money off a person. Tired and hungry, she'd flip over the cards and proclaim:

"There is love in your future!"

"Fortune is just around the corner!"

"Your children will be spared come Reaping time."

And other times they felt true. When she read them the day of her Reaping, and the spreads she'd pulled in the training center.

Maybe she trusted them because they were all she had.

"Okay, cut the deck," Kass ordered once it was succinctly shuffled. Then she reached over and fanned out the cards so that the backs of them were all visible.

"Now pick three cards," she said. "Just whichever ones you're drawn to."

Once the three were selected, Kass gathered the leftovers and laid them aside.

"Okay first, your past," Kass said turning over the first card. Three swords stabbed into a bloody red heart. It wasn't surprising. Kass was sure many of the victors would have similar pasts. "Three of swords meaning you've had a lot of sorrow in your past. Betrayals, grief, yadda yadda yadda."

Kass gave a little wave. It wasn't surprising and she wanted to see something more interesting. She flipped the middle card. It was especially faded but Kass could see the outline of a young man sitting beneath a tree with three cups beside his foot and another one being extended out to him.

"Four of cups for your present. It's related to apathy, depression- possibly remorse for roads not taken," Kass said rolling through the definition she had memorized. Again, not that surprising to Kass that a victor may be depressed about missed opportunities. She quickly moved on, flipping the last card.

A large goblet overflowed into a lake below, with a white dove flying over it.

"Oh, a nice one," Kass blurted out expecting more pain and sadness. "Ace of cups means fulfillment from relationships, but especially new ones. New friends or romance and the celebration of those."

Kass paused. It was always wise to consider who you were reading for before explaining every possible outcome of a card. She didn't know much about Trish but she figured more options for her future would't hurt.

"It can also symbolize fertility."

table by griffin

rook
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who needs another thing to be sad about?

green eyes jealous lungs {kassandra/patricia} Aug 26, 2020 19:07:07 GMT -5

Post by rook on Aug 26, 2020 19:07:07 GMT -5

♕ patricia valfierno ♕

victor of the sixty-eighth hunger games

After shuffling the pack, I pick three cards at random, without giving it too much thought. Kass takes them and places them face-down on the carpet, spread equal distance apart and pointing towards me. I inhale slowly as she reaches for the first card, curious as to what image sits hidden on the other side.

"First, your past."

Three swords stabbed into a red heart, blood spewing from their steel points. Sorrow, betrayal, grief, pain, suffering. Kass waves it away as if it were expected. A part of me that she doesn't to explore, or maybe something she herself doesn't want to revisit?

My thumb rubs over the tattoo on my upper arm as I watch her reach for the second card and turn it face-up. My present.

Four of cups. Kass tells me that it represents apathy, regret, and overwhelming depression. I blink down, feeling as empty as the four chalices illustrated on the card. Is this depression, or acceptance? I don't feel sad, I just feel like I need to keep moving, and not worry about how I'm feeling. Just survive. Emotion has always been something I can bleach over, something expendable to help me get to where I need to be. Do I regret the way I've lived and treated people? No. But things could be better.

I hold my breath as she reaches for the last card, waiting until she reveals the single goblet with a dove soaring above it - a lake sits pensively in the background.

"Oh, a nice one."

She almost sounds surprised.

My future is the ace of cups. Hope, fulfilment, new relationships. Apparently. I think of Opal and Katelyn - would I call them friends yet? I'm trying at least to make an effort with them, and everyone else, but it's going to take a long time to relax my guard after years of pushing people away. Years more to build lasting friendships. The half-smiles over dinner and the awkward conversations - is that what someone would call friendship? Strangely I feel closer to this odd girl with her mismatched tarot cards and wild eyes.

Sometimes friendship blooms where you least expect it to. But often when you most need it to.

"It can also symbolize fertility."

She looks up at me, her eyes as big as the moon. What happened with Maverick was over two years ago. I've not dared to let anyone touch me since. There's literally no chance that Kass' reading is right. I sigh, staring back at her and biting the inside of my cheek.

"The only thing I'm pregnant with is sticky toffee pudding." I lean back against a wooden dresser, rubbing my stomach, "But I suppose the rest is all correct. Good job, spacegirl."

I stare across from her at her wallpaper, thinking about how much of a scam fortune telling is. Most of them don't even read the cards - they read the person and tell them what they want to hear. Reading Victors is easy, you just lean into the grief and anguish we all share, and project it back at them. I don't want to spoil the fun - and I am having some kind of faint amusement from it - so I smile.

And I look at this girl who could easily be a reflection of my younger self, fresh-out the cave with the same scowl and resentment for the way everyone else carries on like it's business-as-usual, like this is the way things should be. So full of anger at the injustice of it all.

And I look at my cards again, at my bitter present and painful past. It's not the best portfolio.

"Don't end up like me, Kass."

And I try to laugh, but it's broken, like most of me.

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside