efflorescence

05. the odds

may you have the luck we all lack.

The morning of the Quell's reaping is sad and quiet. It is so, so quiet. Mr. Rosario's violin does not play, nor does his piano. Tinsley's young grandchildren are not running up and down the street, shrieking in joy. Damien's sisters are not chattering as they walk by in the morning, and Lydia and Charlie are not saying a single word. 

She pulls her hair back, alone in her room, staring into her own eyes in the mirror. Her mother's white dress shirt is loose, but flattering, and the brown wide legged pants from her own closet look fine when paired with it. Hera would approve of this outfit. She looks older- more professional, clean cut. She looks like her mother. Drawing her lips into a thin line, she opens the top drawer of her dresser, rummaging through it's components. A red notebook and a blue tie, and old photograph and a cold metal ring. A small disc. She takes the disk out of the drawer, closes it rather quickly, lest the memories escape. She slips the disc into her pocket, smooths down her shirt, and steps out of her room, nearly walking right into the twins. 

They stand outside her door, staring at her as though they cannot quite believe she is real. 

"What are you doing? Have you guys eaten breakfast?"

"We were waiting for you," Lydia tells her, not daring to blink.

"Lydia burnt the eggs we were making for you," Charlie tells her, though he also stares. 

"I did not!" 

"Alright, well, I can make something. That's no problem. Why don't we go down stairs? And why don't you blink? You look like an insect."

Lydia scowls and turns on her heel, leading the way downstairs. 

Breakfast is fine, but it is also quiet. Lydia is dressed in a pretty purple dress, faded fabric making it look more like a light lavender. Charlie's wearing a nice blue shirt, tucked into his dress pants neatly. 

"You guys are quiet this morning," Penelope frowns, putting down her fork. 

"This morning sucks," Lydia complains. "I hate reapings, they make my stomach hurt."

"You'll be fine," Penelope assures. "Do you want some tea?"

"I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about you. We both are."

"What happens if you leave?" Charlie asks, quieter than his sister across the table.

"If I leave..." she hesitates. She can't tell them she's not leaving. She doesn't know that, not for sure. So she tells them the truth instead. "Then some one will look after you. Tinsley or Damien, maybe even other people. I have a lot of friends, you know. You won't be alone. Besides, I'll never really leave. I kick ass in that arena. You guys are going to be fine. I love you so, so much"

It's not much, but it's the most she can give them. 

An hour later, and she stands on that stage. She'd taken extra care to drink water at breakfast, but she finds her surroundings blurring slightly despite this. She see the twins, at the front of the crowd, beside the families of the other victors. This is a cruel design, but the Capitol must know that. They know exactly what they are doing. She tries not to look at them, but it doesn't do her much good. She can hear the nervous whispering, can feel their young eyes burning into her. The air smells like static, and it is freezing. She forgot to say one thing, in case she was reaped. She forgot to ask one more thing of them. Please don't watch. 

Celestine is a gorgeous woman, and Penelope will not deny this. She's a little eccentric, a little dramatic, but Penelope only knows one person from the Capitol who isn't. Celestine is odd, a little severed from reality. She sends the victors gifts on Capitol holidays, visits them all when she's in town for reapings. She gives Lydia and Charlie hugs and kisses, leaving lipstick stains on the sides of their faces, not even noticing their grimaces.