into elysian fields // 87th victor interview

all that I've got, pieces and pages
talking a lot, sorry I'm faded
think I've forgot, you love me
you love me
you love me

Years pass, they come and go -- Sardonyx is the only constant on this stage. She and the audience, an ever inquisitive eye, it's an amazement that anything surprises them at this point. Part of her wonders where it all started blurring together; as if that's not the appeal. As if the highest form of luxury is nihilism: you chase after gods, what is left on earth for you? What's good enough? 

Is Flynn Garner good enough? 

Sardonyx would like to think so, at least with time. You look around and the child victors are always the easiest headlines, but they mature so poorly. Aranica, Saffron, Kassandra, they never embrace the victor lifestyle. It's all about kids and marriage, a happy home, they emulate Capitolites without the security of tomorrow - without that promise. Flynn stumbles on stage, great. 

She stifles a chuckle, he recovers cartoonishly. There's something there, some type of path way; though, he works medicine. That can be cut out, he can be a cameo star on some Capitolite children's show maybe. 

A kid of theatrics, he has his own merit, of course. The goofy wave and quaffed hair, right down to the floral button shirt, where does he fit in? Normally, they tell Sardonyx the prompt for the interview, how she's supposed to mold them down the Council's chosen edit for each victor, but there's nothing here, something to do with comedy. It's- it's halfwitted, the council notes Flynn as if he doesn't have a brain. 

Obviously he's smart enough to be alive, that counts for some goddamn thing. 

Sardonyx crosses her legs as Flynn thanks her, she notes that he's respectful. Kind, is that something victors still do? Shy, Lysander, Beck, Ridley, Kass, Nico- are victors kind again? She had almost gotten accustomed to that day-to-day fight, that undersweep current of repression. "Well, of course!"

"What are we without good lighting?"

It takes a chuckle from the audience, she's always loved the way the crowd shows their teeth when they laugh. Flynn smiles wide, something a little forced but she can tell it's by discipline -- Skye's work, perhaps? If Ursa is any type of example of work, Skye has always trained manners into the District Six victors. What's the narrative here? Flynn has a family, happy family of intelligent parents- no, no, that's boring. 

"But no, thank you for still being here, Flynn! Your eyes will adjust, surely, before Teddy takes you home for us." That's his father figure now, the mentor-mentee relationship is everything to the news outlet. Brains and Brawns, just one .NSR clip of them hugging and the entire capitol shells out their wallet. That's something to work with, that's where the meat is. 

Capitolites laugh with their teeth barring, like they're hungry, starved, "but you look bright yourself! Impeccable, to win the Games without a single missing limb, at your age no less. It takes a clever boy to manage that- can I get a round of applause!"

"For both hands!"

As it should be, Nico Thorne could pull off the limb-less victor look, but no one else could compare, really. She grins in the applause, railing her side of the interview; hopefully it gives Flynn a second to breathe, gather thoughts before the big questions. That's the easiest way to approach the younger kids, almost like holding their hand. Just a little help, "tell me, did they pierce your new ear already? Are we going to see a studded Flynn Garner era?" 

And she's no one shy of the camera, part of her almost misses warming up to the light. Lysander and Shy were never ready for these interviews, the only attempts were so sedated that it was like talking to corpses. Perhaps they both had an excuse, dying might do that to a teenager. 

Luckily, Flynn is still on his first life. 

However long that lasts. 

all that I've got, pieces and pages
talking a lot, sorry I'm faded
think I've forgot, you love me
you love me
you love me

It's not odd for a baby victor to be overwhelmed their first interview -- Sardonyx understands, expects it even. There are Capitolites who find it hard to talk along the same stage as a Crowe, so it's only fair that the grandest survivors struggle as well. The coaching is all the same, and by that, she means it's all Teddy's responsibility now. Boy wanted a victor so badly, train him. 

Flynn dies in the aftermath it's no one's fault but Teddy Ursa's, and maybe Sardonyx is just bitter. She watches Flynn as he speaks of his missing ear, the insistent pride of battle wounds, and she still loathes the fact that Teddy Ursa walks instead of the beauty that was Lux. That Flynn survives and Silk Le Roux dares die -- what she would give to interview a victor like that again. 

Not since Ridley, not since Nico; before that, not since Justice. 

They're either too humble or too weak, Flynn plays along with the game but she isn't too pleased with the answer. Laughing along at the rebuttal of a missing ear trend, "haha, that is definitely an artistic choice! Pardon my language, but a velcro ear piece- oh, I can't finish this statement." Sardonyx jests, to almost pitch an idea relying on velcro is near sacrilege, such a disgusting material to work with. 

Audience laughs too, playful boo's ringing and someone throws a fake ear onto the stage. Presumably fake, Sardonyx covers her mouth to stifle her laugh -- maybe that's not something to bring attention to. Instead, she reframes her posture, letting the crowd's enjoyment die down before gaining control on the interview again. 

Dare she say it, but she's enjoying this interview. Flynn is no dashing hero, no charming prince, but he definitely facilitates something entertaining. Sardonyx gives no credit to survivors, she'll have to pass judgement onto Gamemakers Carter and Zane- no, no just Carter. "But I must say, you sure one with the trends, Flynn! There have been .NSR clips trending everywhere around the Capitol about your aim, even comparing you to Kassandra Nerys herself. Even Ex Oh sent a drunken tweet of it! Here," Sardonyx leans back into her chair, motioning with fluid arm movements to the viral posts. 

It scrolls for a few minutes, a life like voice in late-President Snow's voice reading them out in its own humorous tone. Capitolites play along, standing from their seats and yelling at the .NSR clips, the ones watching from their NERVAlinks clap excitedly in their seats. Sardonyx is preoccupied, sending a congratulatory message to Gm. Carter from her own neurotech, until the queue plays to react to the highlighted tweet. 

Flynn Garner, shooting his fellow finalist dead in the final hour. He collapses before yelling how alive he is, "that's a moment that will be in compilations for games to come, Garner! I must ask, what do you think lead to both you and Kassandra being such a strong shot?" She leans inquisitively, closing out of her NERVAlink visual replacement and focusing on Flynn Garner himself. 

Seeing every bit of him, how small he is compared to herself, to the chair made for him. "Surely experts have sized it up to how nimble you two are, that adorable small stature definitely helps, but the aim. That isn't something you can just train, that has to be something a victor is born with!" There's a cheer from the audience, the idea that Victors are born and not made has always persisted, like a birthright. 

Like a claim to success, just as Capiolites are born to be wealthy. 

She puts her palms together, leaning on the arm chair, almost to size up Flynn even closer. A victor hasn't cracked on her stage since Beck Hailsham, maybe it's what they need this year. In a few minutes, perhaps, "where does that aim come from, Flynn? We want to know!" 

Need to know, almost. Firearms are illegal in the districts, there should be no prior experience with these, but she thinks to Sin Mortuus, to Sutton Mae and even Eos Delacroix, the Johnwaynes. Don't make that mistake, Garner, families disappear from the map for a reason. 

The Garner family is happy, is whole, but the reaping is next year. 

District Six female may just be decided on this answer. 

all that I've got, pieces and pages
talking a lot, sorry I'm faded
think I've forgot, you love me
you love me
you love me

Being honest, she knows he must be someone's sweet son.  

There's something compelling about humility, Flynn Garner humble at the age of thirteen - alive by a miracle. "A natural talent," Sardonyx repeats from his mouth to her's, relayed to the crowd in something akin to reaffirmation. It flashes on the screen: SHARPSHOOTER! From one of the most dangerous arena's provided to date, it's a surprise that a young boy is the one to live through it all. Sardonyx has never personally been captivated by the right place, right time victor storyline's. 

But living means more than bullets and gunpowder, tributes die from more than just one lost fight. Blood loss, poisoning, radiation, infections, starvation; "you must have been reading the right journals then!" Give yourself some credit, some confidence, don't embarrass yourself on the stage of Crowe -- an interview that haunts you for decades. She lets him speak, invites him to. Let that brain choose where this interview goes, the Capitol is hungry to see him bleed again. 

Give us something. 

And it's a glint of rusted bronze, sparkling in its dull dazzle in the Capitol stage lighting- she imagines how it'll glitter in the .NSR. The zoom in as she coo's in excitement, he calls it leftovers, she sees a Poria Rain souvenir. 87th Bullet collection, "get a hold of this!" Sardonyx claims it in fascination. That's something that always gets the crowd going, "can I see it? I promise I'll give it back for free," she asks, outreaching her palm, studded acrylics pointing at Flynn like daggers. Just for a close up, that's a promise. 

She doesn't believe that he'll trust her completely - Sardonyx has always loved the way new victors get defensive. Intimidated, almost, if they aren't jaded by the arena itself. Flynn has lived through his own week of broken promises, a used bullet can't be worse than Nanette Carter abandoning him twice. 

"You know, most victors bring home pets from the arena or dropped tokens - other tribute's tokens - but Sharpshooter brings home a bullet!" Sardonyx beckons to the crowd, "natural talent indeed, it seems like you're practically drawn to it." It's almost as if she's getting paid to sell this idea of Flynn, the gunsmith, survivor of the wasteland arena. Something so unkind and how it breaks innocence, changes children into Victors. 

It doesn't seem like he's used to them, though, as if he's anymore comfortable with a bullet between his fingers than a child soldier should be. There's a facade of disconcern - Sardonyx doesn't believe he's a rebel or anything, nothing to worry of so far. "I can practically smell Skye Rizi's fashion line from here! Those used bullets have to be repurposed some how," she herself would make an ammo-studded asymmetrical jacket and hoodie combo, pair that with some military boots and you have a 04' inspired collection on your hands. 

But that's just one legend's opinion, do what you will. "You know, Flynn, Skye has been a colleague of mine for years now, and I can say that you're in some good hands with her. Honestly! But I know that she loves her some kind victors, she must be really proud to work with you," it's always good to leave a good opinion on the other stylists. Skylah and Sardonyx have only talked in passing - she's new talent, in Sardonyx's opinion, just lacking refinement. Humble Flynn for Humble Skye; ugh. 

"How have you felt working with her? But be honest, my dear," she says with a wink, bullet still between her finger tips. Some gossip would be delicious this afternoon, "we only want the real opinion!"