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Post by countlivin on Jun 9, 2021 4:42:43 GMT
Oh man, new PoV! This is so amazing, I love going into a storyline completely blind, without knowing anything about what's in store for the characters. Ever since you announced that we'd be getting a new PoV, I've been excited for it, but I didn't think it'd be this soon. And one very unique thing here is that Iris seems to be the tribute, whereas Ionys is our PoV, so I am really intrigued by what her storyline is going to offer not as a tribute or someone directly involved with the games such as Theo, but as a tribute's family member, that's really an angle that hasn't been explored yet. [A. Give the Speech for Iris.]I don't know about this. Iris wants to give the speech, she has made that one clear, but Ionys seems like she has a much better grip on herself and a much better understanding of the situation. Of course, she might just be underestimating her sister and I honestly feel a little bad at denying her the opportunity to prove herself, but if Ionys is right, then Iris really shouldn't give the speech. Glad you liked it! I'm hoping that Ionys will be an interesting POV. Having her twin be in the Hunger Games will make for some interesting drama I think. |
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Post by InGenNateKenny on Jun 9, 2021 15:55:15 GMT
[B. Let Iris Give the Speech.]
Don't let her sister get in trouble for something Ionys says. No speech.
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raoul
New Member
Posts: 11
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Post by raoul on Jun 10, 2021 3:09:08 GMT
Give iris’s speech
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Post by countlivin on Jul 3, 2021 0:10:33 GMT
You have chosen Ionys to [A. Give the Speech for Iris.]
Iris’s second of hesitation was enough room for Ionys to vault up from the seat. Her sister would fold upon that stage; there was no doubt about it. And damn it, Ionys was not going to let her embarrass herself. Not at the end.
With feigned purpose, Ionys strode to the stage, her seven-inch tassel swaying in a smoggy breeze. Inside, she was drowning in terror—not from the speech, she had every line memorized down to the inflection, but for what would happen afterwards. Would the Peacekeepers break down the door of their apartment? Or would they drag her from the stage with a bag over her head? Either way, Ionys did not plan to leave District Three willingly, though she would rather it be her than Iris. The question was not whether Ionys would fight, it was how she could win…
“No!” Iris whimpered, but it was too late. Ionys was already halfway to the stairs.
Vikto Quaymain eyed her like a hungry wolf as she took her place on the stage. All the teachers did, them who had raised her from the crib and taught her every lesson she knew. Perhaps they truly were hungry. Everyone was. And right now in the girl on stage, they saw twelve sweet months of plenty. When the food came, it would be floated safely to the ground by small drones not unlike the ones used in the Hunger Games themselves. But to the districts, those drones might as well have been angels, come to deliver them from famine.
A smattering of applause filled the pavilion and Quaymain gestured uncertainly toward her. As Ionys took the microphone, she smoothed her skirt. It was evident in the expectant stares. They were waiting for an angel. She cleared her throat.
“Good morning, my family and peers, my soon-to-be-colleagues and my beloved mentors.” It was the easiest line, the one Ionys had helped her sister practice a million times a day for the past month. Ionys omitted the joke they had prepared, and the fake friendly smile which would come after. “I feel so incredibly honored to be standing here in front of you today, not just as a student moving on from District Three’s finest high school, but as a friend. My classmates, professors, and the faculty have all helped shaped me into the person I want to be, and I cannot thank you enough.”
In the front row, Iris was weeping. She had hidden her tears behind a lock of her red hair, but she couldn’t hide them from Ionys. These were supposed to be her words. I’m sorry, she cried out, hoping Iris could hear her.
“Only a day ago, I first stepped foot in the halls of our high school. Only a week ago, my mother brought me to preliminary school and taught me my letters. There I made my very first friends, with which I shared the best moments of my life. Only a month ago, bomb fire rained upon the districts, and we fought for our independence. Only a year ago, District Three might once have been the Capitol.” Doctor Quaymain perked up at that. So did the Peacekeepers.
“But I would not have us look to the past,” the speech continued. “In our nation’s anthem, we hear the line ‘through the ages you shine anew.’ Panem shines anew. I would like to ask all of us what that really means. Look around us. Nothing shines, and if something does, we slather it in motor oil until it looks like the rest of the district. We don’t shine. But still, there is something uniquely beautiful about that line. ‘Through the ages you shine anew.’ Panem does not shine, but it is new.
“In the grand scheme of things, twenty-five years since the Dark Days ended will be a footnote in the history books. Panem will live through us, and it will live through our children, and it will live long after we are gone. And so, I ask the peers I spent twelve short years in school with, what do we want Panem to be? And how do we get it there?
“Through the ages you shine anew. In the spaces between each of those words, there is opportunity. Opportunity lifted off the backs of us in the districts. We prop those words up. Without us, they can’t stand. Without the districts, Panem can’t shine.” It wasn’t in the script she had written, but she felt compelled to add “The Capitol can’t shine…” She knew they would be watching, and layered an extra bite into the words.
In her final paragraph, Iris would have layered out her plans after school: to train under the best medics in Three. After she turned twenty-three, she would apply for immigration to the Capitol. There she would attend officer’s school and once she was elected to President Snow’s council, she would fight directly for better conditions for her home. But those words Ionys had not helped write, so she wouldn’t pretend they were hers.
But the Capitol had decided it had other plans. A dozen cameras closed in on Ionys, and she knew behind them the Capitol watched with greedy paws. This was their true reaping, here in Wiring Pavilion.
Ionys stepped away from the microphone, and hurried down from the stage. The plaza was so quiet, she could hear the raven’s caw high above. No one clapped—not even her mother.
She had known before she even got to the stage, but it was now that it truly sunk in. Ionys had taken Iris’s place on the podium, and the Capitol was watching her. If Three decided Iris would be their tribute, then Ionys would become her twin in truth. She would go to the Capitol and die in the Hunger Games, all while bearing her sister’s name. Maybe that wasn’t so bad, she figured as she watched Iris sob upon her seat. The Hunger Games would be the same as their father’s death—Iris would mourn in District Three and Ionys would stand resolute, spitting in the Capitol’s eye. If it were the other way around…
Even in the face of the grandest joke on earth, Ionys wouldn’t cry. If the Peacekeepers would come for her, let them come. She would bite any hand that tried to bind her.
After her speech, the awarding of the diplomas was a grim affair. Each graduate that took the stage simply shook three hands and got out of the spotlight as quickly as possible. Some of them even exited straight out of the plaza after receiving their awards, just as Gizmo had.
As Quaymain droned each and every name, Iris shifted uneasily. Ionys reached for her sister’s hand only for her to cross her arms in defense. “I was trying to help,” she whispered in frustration.
“It’s fine…” she whimpered. “I forgive you…”
She knew Iris would say that. A quick glance at her was all it took to know she was wounded, and the forgiveness wasn’t a big enough bandage. Yell at me! Ionys wanted to say. Slap me! Tell me I’m awful! Anything! But Ionys received nothing but icy silence.
By the time noon arrived, her peers had dwindled down to half their number. Because the graduates were arranged by class ranking instead of alphabetical order, and because Gizmo had fled Wiring, the twins ended up the very last two to receive their diploma. Quaymain stepped up to the microphone and announced, “Ionys Banks.”
Ionys’s sister stood. She went for her arm to pull her back down, but second guessed it. “Too late now,” Iris muttered, locking eyes with Ionys for the first time since before the ceremony; they were glistening. “Gotta keep up the cover. You’re me. I’m you.”
Luckily, the four students to the left of Ionys had walked after taking their diplomas, otherwise they might have overheard. She’s me, thought Ionys. She turned it over in her mind. And I’m her.
Iris ascended the stage and shook the hand of Doctors Lythes, Bannen, and Quaymain before the scroll was placed in her hand. Lythes and Bannen offered congratulations with a smile, but Quaymain pulled her in close and whispered something in her ear: words meant for Ionys. The professors pointed to the camera and Iris attempted a feigned smile.
“And finally, Iris Banks!”
On cue, Ionys stood for her sister, and proceeded to the far end of the stage while Iris took her seat. They caught one another’s eye and shared a knowing pause. A Peacekeeper barked at them and Ionys found the strength to keep moving.
It was her second time on this stage today, and yet it seemed more daunting now. In that diploma rested the proof of her hard-earned education, and the key to any door she wished to open. And holding it was Quaymain—in his formal blacks he looked almost the grim reaper.
Ionys shook the doctors’ hands with Iris’s. Lythes she did not much care for, but Bannen had been a strong component of her education through his fascinating history lectures, so she thanked him genuinely. But there was a third hand to shake—one that emerged suddenly from between the professors’ shoulders. “Excuse me… Sorry!” she laughed as she climbed through the ranks of her coworkers. “Excuse me! Coming through!”
“Briar, what are you doing?” Doctor Quaymain spat, away from the microphone. “This is very unprofessional!”
The conductor, who Doctor Quaymain had called Briar, finally stumbled through the crowd and beamed at her. With one hand, she placed a strand of curly hair behind her ear and with the other she took Ionys by the shoulder. “Sorry, Vikto,” she tilted her head in amusement, “I just need a word with our top girl!”
Quaymain grinded his teeth. “Can it wait until after the ceremony? We are live on Capitol air.”
“Oh yeah, I know,” she nodded. Gesturing around to the faculty, then to the audience, she said, “we all know.”
“Miss White, please resume your post this instant!”
“Yeah, yeah, just a minute.” She led Ionys away from the microphone. Either because of her unshaking confidence, or the shock of the disruption, neither Quaymain nor the Peacekeepers made any move to stop her. “Iris! Iris, Iris, Iris…” she smiled, and Ionys winced at her sister’s name. She turned to Quaymain. “Do you mind?”
“Yes, in fact, I do!” he said.
Briar White’s soft brown skin grew flushed. She waved her hands frantically as if she didn’t know what to do with them. “It’s about… feminine things?”
Then it was Quaymain’s turn to blush. Quickly, his eyes darted out into the crowd and he shifted uncomfortably beside the podium. The other professors behind him did the same. No questions were asked funnily enough, though Ionys had several brewing. She had never spoken to Briar before, and neither had Iris. But to her credit, she knew how to make people listen. And that skill came pre-packaged with the opposite effect: knowing how to make people tune out. On the largest stage in the district with an audience of over two thousand, and on live Capitol television, Briar White had managed to secure a moment of privacy with a single sentence.
Once Briar White had her full attention, Ionys noticed the scar: a bumpy streak starting just to the side of her left eye and progressing across her temple until it vanished behind her hair. It did little to mar what was otherwise a very charming face. “What did you want to say?” asked Ionys, truly curious. Surely, this stranger did not make such a scene to discuss that time of the month.
Briar sighed, patting down both of Ionys’s shoulders, sizing her up. When she realized that the woman was milking the suspense, she finally spoke. “You see the cameras?” she whispered. “No, don’t look. Just listen. Capitol’s watching.”
“I know.”
“Good intuition, then.” She snickered. “That’s good. You’ll need that.”
“What’s your point?”
“I just need to make sure that when they come for you, you don’t put up a fight. A lot of work has been put into you, and I want to make sure you get there alive and in one piece.”
What on earth did she mean? A lot of work had been put into her? She had to remember that Briar was speaking of Iris. Ionys had been considering fighting the Peacekeepers, but how the hell could this woman have known that? No… There was no way, it had to be a coincidence.
“I’m going to die anyway, what does it matter?” Ionys deadpanned.
Briar tsked. “You know the saying ‘don’t put all your eggs in one basket?’ Screw that. Terrible mentality. What kind of basket can’t hold eggs? A bad one, that’s for sure. I’m just saying, this is not the particular basket I’d put my eggs in. Don’t want them to break, you know?”
“You don’t know me!” Ionys hissed.
“Not yet anyway…” She leaned in and planted a rosy kiss on each of Ionys’s cheeks. “The Peacekeepers will arrive at your apartment about an hour after the ceremony concludes. You won’t be allowed back, so gather everything you think you can hide on your person. Maybe wear some baggy clothes. We’ll see each other again soon.”
“Now hang on just a minute!” Ionys protested. “Why are you—?”
“May the odds be ever in your favor,” Briar whispered before spinning Ionys around by the shoulders in presentation to Three and the Capitol once more. “She’s all yours, Doc!” Briar White danced back to her place in the rows of faculty, and Wiring Pavilion was no longer silent. Mutters of indignation and curiosity spread throughout the crowd like an open flame.
Her diploma was supposed to be a signal that she was prepared to face whatever the world could throw her way, yet as Quaymain placed the thing abruptly in her hand, she mourned that nothing inside could show her the way out of this. When the class of twenty-five gathered in the center aisle to conclude the ceremony and throw their caps in the air, most eyes were on the flying caps. Ionys only watched the Peacekeepers.
“Are you okay?” Iris asked as they made their way to the back of Wiring to rendezvous with Mom.
“When we get home, help me get my things together. You’re being reaped. And I’m you.”
End of Chapter Thirteen
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Post by countlivin on Jul 3, 2021 0:13:28 GMT
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: THE LAST MEAL
Saul Arrem
Saul had been through a lot in his eighteen years on the earth. He’d lost his parents, his girlfriend… He had almost lost Peara more times than he could count. Often, the weight of it would press him to the floor, whispering terrible things in his ear. You have nothing left to fight for, it said. He would spend long nights lying awake, wondering why he was even still here, but he had to be. He had to protect Peara. They were all either had left.
The cuffs cut tightly into Saul’s ankles; the Peacekeepers had bound them to the chair, with no mercy. Across the rickety wooden table, her legs cuffed to her own chair, his sister sat. They were in this together even more so now than before. Their hands were cuffed as well, but loose enough that they could get at the plates of food in front of them. Mashed potatoes, a slice of ham, and some green beans. Although it smelled incredible, he wasn’t hungry.
“Eat,” Munrow instructed through the dust. “You need your strength.”
“No,” Saul spoke firmly, though across the table, Peara had already begun scarfing down the potatoes. That was like her. Even a grudge against the man who was holding her prisoner wouldn’t stop her from what really mattered.
“You’re going to eat it, boy.” Munrow pushed the plate further toward him, teetering on the edge of the table. He admitted the platter looked appetizing, but his will to get the cuffs off weighed more than the pit in his stomach. “If you don’t eat, you’re gonna lose weight. And trust me, you do not want to have an empty stomach where you’re going.” When Saul didn’t respond, he scoffed and continued. “Well, I guess I’ll eat it then, if you’re so persistent on getting yourself killed.”
“Ungrateful little runt!” Aphrodite Heavensbee shot, standing up as straight as she could. Her magnificent Capitol dress looked far out of place in Munrow’s District Eleven home.
“Please, Aff,” Munrow said calmly, placing himself in a chair aside Saul and Peara. The man’s pet name for the Capitol woman both confused Saul and churned his stomach. “I need quiet.”
“I thought he’d be bigger,” she frowned. “Like that one from several years ago, you remember him? A veritable giant.”
Munrow shook his head. “A giant’s gotta eat.” For a final attempt, Munrow held the dinner beneath Saul’s nose, and he used it as a chance to hock a glob of phlegm into the potatoes. He had only a brief moment to be pleased with himself. Munrow sat stoically, rage clearly broiling beneath his thick hide. “You know this is more than I eat in three days?” he muttered.
And he upended the plate over Peara’s head. She screamed as the steaming gravy ran through her hair. As a knee-jerk reaction, Saul threw himself against his restraints. “I’ll kill you!” he cried, but the cuffs kept him fastened. From the corner of the room, Heavensbee chuckled, and Saul could have killed her too.
“DO IT!” Munrow bellowed, his voice filling the room with sound. “Or are you a coward? Pick up that knife and stab me! Bludgeon me to death with your cuffs!” He paused, and when Saul made no move, he continued. “Or do you realize that I’m stronger than you, and it would be a mistake to try? Maybe you’re not such a moron after all.”
“Help!” shouted Saul, hoping someone would hear. But the cottage was a mile away from Eleven, and the windows were closed…
“Nobody’s coming to help you,” Aphrodite taunted him. “You’re alone here, you—”
“Pea, are you okay?” Saul asked.
Across the table, Peara scrambled to fish green beans from her curls. “I’m fine,” she whimpered. “It hurts though…”
“You insufferable little cretin!” Aphrodite marched up to Saul, her metal heels clicking on the floor, and yanked his head back by the mats so hard his scalp bled. “Do not interrupt a citizen of the Capitol!”
“Bite me!” Saul fired off, and to his disgust, the option didn’t appear entirely unappealing to her. He wanted to jump out of these restraints and strangle the life from either one of them, but he could not hold in the question any longer. “Why are you doing this? What did we ever do to you?”
Munrow sighed. “You’re an eighteen-year-old orphan child with no chance of ever being adopted. Everyone is too full with their own kids to take on another, and your sister is the same. No one cares about either of you. That makes you the best possible candidates.”
“Candidates for what?” Peara cried.
“For the Hunger Games, dear…” Aphrodite replied. Her grin was venom. “You will be District Eleven’s female tribute, and you, boy… You will be the male.”
What little structure that held Saul’s life in place finally came crumbling down to the sea. The Hunger Games… Neither Saul nor Peara had ever placed their names in the reaping for the tesserae, as their food costs had always been covered by St. Rhodes.’ And besides, most years District Eleven would have a volunteer. It had never even been in his realm of thought that one day he might have to play any more a part in those dreadful Games than watching the mandatories in July. Even with her pale skin and potatoes in her hair, Peara did not deserve to die. No one did…
“That… You can’t do that to us…” Saul protested weakly. “It’s the mayor’s job to decide who will be chosen for the Games, not yours.”
“You see, that’s where the fun part comes in,” said Munrow. The fun part… Bastard… “Mayor Davett is weak-willed, and he doesn’t care for much but his own skin. He has been struggling with the decision the Capitol put on him for the past several days. He is good-natured at heart, of course he’d have trouble deciding which of his citizens to send. I’m going to bring to him the opportunity tomorrow, and without a doubt he’ll spring for it. All I’m doing is taking the burden off his shoulders.”
“Go to hell…” Saul couldn’t even look at him right now. Instead, he turned toward Peara, shaking in her cuffs. The room was the one he had spent his life in, with its deteriorating wallpaper and faded floors. He wondered how he’d gone so long without realizing the man he served as apprentice was never a man at all—just a backstabbing traitor. This was how he was repaid for all his years of work in the orchards: getting sent to the Capitol to die.
“You certainly didn’t make it easy,” the man continued. “I needed to orchestrate your arrest first. I thought the fire would injure you, and the Peacekeepers would find you outside the fence, but you were too quick.”
“You set the fire?!” Saul barked. He had wondered why on his way to Munrow’s cottage, the orchard seemed strangely untouched by the fire. “To your own orchard? Why would you—?”
“And to your credit, Saul, even with a severe burn on your arm, you didn’t expose your secret when we talked afterward.” Munrow stood, passing the Capitol woman to a cupboard behind them. He withdrew from it a small black device with gray wheels which shined in the candlelight. “Had this recording our whole conversation, and somehow you wriggled your way out.”
It was true… Saul had gone to great lengths to conceal what had happened in the woods. A recording would expose nothing. “You… that’s vile!”
“It’s a shame,” said Munrow. “If you had just told me about the fire, this all could have been so much easier, and I could have sent out the firemen without arousing any suspicion. That forest beyond the orchard… the one you loved so much? It’s gone now, reduced to blackened sticks.”
Saul had supposed as much, but hearing it in fact still struck daggers in his heart. “It was just a forest…” Saul muttered, but that was untrue. It had been so much more.
“That’s true,” Munrow agreed, taking another seat at the table. He pointed at Peara. “But is she just a girl?”
“What do you mean?”
“What I mean, is that if you had just taken the fall and gotten yourself arrested for the fire, there would be no reason that your sister would have to be here. But we had to resort to the backup plan: that ordeal with your orphanage. This was all to get you. We have no need of her.”
“Then let her go!” Saul pleaded. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“It’s too late,” Heavensbee laughed.
“The Peacekeepers already identified her as a thief,” Munrow added. “The prisons in Eleven are full to bursting with inmates that did less to get there. What do you think they’ll do to her if we leave her here? She’s an Albar, Saul. What will they do to her if you’re not here to protect her?”
“Saul, it’s okay,” Peara tried, her eyes welling with tears. “I’ll go. I’ll go…”
“See, honey?” Aphrodite spoke sweetly to Mr. Munrow. Each of them had used a pet name for each other… When Munrow smiled, Saul now realized the pair must have shared a significant relationship, aside from being coworkers in this despicable underground scheme. Aphrodite went to pat Peara on the head, then flicked the gravy off her fingers with a disgusted sneer. “The girl is polite. She asks the important questions instead of sitting there, useless and whiny. I told you we should have gone for her instead.”
Munrow nodded. “Well, we have the both of them now. There’s no sense worrying about what’s in the past.” Saul scoffed. Of course Munrow wouldn’t want to dwell on the things he’s done; they would drive an ordinary man to vomit. “The Capitol has decreed that two weeks of interim will be granted for the districts to decide on their tributes before they are shipped off,” he said. “You will be District Eleven’s tribute, and so I am going to make sure you are ready.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I will personally train you, Saul,” he replied. “You need to get to the top and win. This District used to be alongside Two as the wealthiest in Panem, and now it’s on the verge of bankruptcy. A victory could bring them enough money to get their economy back to speed. Don’t you want to help them?”
Them, not us… “What could you possibly have to teach us that we don’t already know.”
“You, not her,” he said. “The girl won’t survive the first night.”
Peara began to cry, but Saul was too busy seething to console her. “Take that back, right now!”
“Or what? You’ll spit in the next meal I bring you?” He chuckled acidly and placed both arms firmly on the table. “Have you ever had a lesson in fencing?” he asked brusquely. “It’s a sport of art and mastery. There’s not much I can teach you in two weeks, but it’s better than going in barefoot.”
“Back in the day, he was top of his class!” Aphrodite mentioned. “One of the best sword-fighters in the world!”
“Thank you, Aff,” Munrow said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand, “but I haven’t held one in eighteen years. But I still have enough to whip you into a tribute that can hold a torch. Think, Saul. Think about it logically. I know you’re angry. But this is the only right way to win.”
Munrow extended a hand forward for a handshake. Saul had every reason to slap it away, but didn’t just yet.
Saul watched his kid sister across the table. She was trying her hardest to smile, though gravy and green beans still dripped from her hair. Every word Munrow said spit bile into him. Peara would survive far past the first night! He would see to that. Yet, he knew in one way, the man was right. He would need training if he ever had a hope to survive the Hunger Games. Being able to climb trees wasn’t always enough, since it was possible the environment might be barren; there was always at least a sword. Still though, the man planned to ruin both his and Peara’s lives, and showed no remorse. Saul was hesitant to shake his hand for that reason alone.
What should Saul do?
[A. Accept Munrow's Offer.]
[B. Refuse Munrow's Offer.]
You have chosen Saul to [A. Accept Munrow's Offer.]
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Post by InGenNateKenny on Jul 3, 2021 6:08:57 GMT
Two very dramatic parts. Lots of tears and anger. Juicy.
[B. Refuse Munrow's Offer.] I like causing more trouble.
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Post by countlivin on Jul 3, 2021 7:06:09 GMT
Two very dramatic parts. Lots of tears and anger. Juicy.
[B. Refuse Munrow's Offer.] I like causing more trouble. I can tell based on all your choices that you like stirring the pot XD. What's your opinion on Briar White so far? Since we got to see the first of her in the back half of the Ionys chapter. |
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Post by Stephen on Jul 4, 2021 0:18:20 GMT
[A. Accept Munrow’s Offer.]
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Jul 6, 2021 2:04:22 GMT
[A. Accept Munrow's Offer.] Gosh, Munrow is just the worst. Forget about Penn, now I'm all on the Munrow hate train! Actually, scratch that, she's still the worst, but so is Munrow! The worst part about him, however, is that his offer actually makes sense. He actually makes sense, in the coldest, most disgusting way possible and that somehow makes me hate him even more. Saul is a good guy, I am invested in his story and I don't want him to die. Yes, given the chances of survival in the games he probably will and he ain't the one I want to see winning that thing either, but I'll be damned if he doesn't deserve a fighting chance. I hate that this chance has to come from Munrow, of all people, but I don't see Saul in a position to refuse. Plus, accidents happen during a swordfight and this might be the best way to get revenge. Saul's already going to die in the arena, so what are they going to do if he 'accidentally' skewers that old bastard during a training session? |
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Post by foxcobra on Jul 6, 2021 18:00:28 GMT
Accept the offer.
He is certainly despicable, which means every ounce of food, sip of water, and minute of training and support we can make him spend, the better
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Post by countlivin on Jul 7, 2021 4:41:22 GMT
So I won't have the next chapter out for another couple days at most, but I figured I'd release this chapter now since I have it done. Next part should come out before this Friday.
You have chosen Saul to [A. Accept Munrow's Offer.]
Scowling, he reached his hand forth, dragging the other cuffed behind. Grinding his teeth, he shook the hand. He shook it hard, hoping to inflict some pain, but the old man only withdrew and laughed. “I don’t know how you live with yourself,” Saul bit.
“It’s easy once you get past the childish assumption that everything is about you.” There was a glint in his eye, shining off the moon. “I’m doing this so the rest of the District doesn’t have to suffer knowing they betrayed one of their own. I’m bearing that burden for them. So, yes, I am able to sleep with myself.”
Saul slumped back, defeated. Across the table, Peara’s glistening eyes peered at his. So this was it… He was going to be in the Hunger Games, and so was Peara. Their lives had been swindled away from them as easy as one would pluck an apple.
“Oh, get over yourself!” Heavensbee taunted him, a flicker of a grin on her. “Countless young men and women have been exactly where you’re sitting now before you! It’s not so bad. Just think, you are giving your life so that the rest of your district can live. It doesn’t sound so bad when you put it like that, now does it?”
Steam still billowed from a pot on the stove where Munrow had prepared the gravy. Still hot. He imagined the stylist’s stupid mop of dyed hair burning away as he shoved her face down into the pan and held it there until it sizzled and fried. It isn’t so bad! Saul would say. The rest of your skin’s still there!
“We will begin your lessons tomorrow,” said Munrow, waking Saul from the nightmare. Or maybe it was only beginning. “We won’t have much time, with the deadline so quickly approaching. We have less than two weeks. But for now, I will teach you the first lesson of swordplay. Empty your mind, and calm the hell down.”
“Calm down,” Saul broiled. “You’re telling me to calm down after you set fire to your—OUR orchard?! You blamed me and Peara for something we didn’t do, you’re sending us off to die in a war we didn’t start! How can you POSSIBLY tell me to calm down?”
“It beats throwing a tantrum like you’re doing.” The man shook his head, the grey tassels on his beard swinging like beads. “If it helps, I’m going to take Aphrodite outside for a moment, and you can have a moment alone to speak with your sister. You would be wise not to try to escape.”
The fire was eating Saul from the inside, but he sat still, and waited for them both to leave. Munrow glowered at the Capitol woman as they went—a fact that did not go unnoticed by her. As the door shut behind them, through the walls Saul heard Aphrodite complain, “What? I’m just backing you up!”
After they were gone, Saul leaned forward. “Peara, are you alright? Did he hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” she replied, shivering. “Saul… I don’t like that man. How did you work for him for so long?”
He swallowed back a snarl. “Back then I had no idea what kind of man he was.”
“Is what they’re saying true?” she asked. “We’re going to be in the Hunger Games? How can that be? They didn’t do the Reaping this year.”
“It’s true… It’s all true.” He slammed his bound hands onto the table in frustration, splintering one of its legs. If only I had told Mr. Munrow about the fire! Saul cried to himself. Then I would be the only one in this mess. The Hunger Games were a terrifying prospect, but Saul was determined to face his death like a man. What made this so unbearable was what it could do to Peara. She wouldn’t die—he would see to it, fight for her with his every breath—but on the other side, would she still be Peara?
“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” she said weakly. If he hadn’t been cuffed, he would have leapt up and wrapped her in a tight hug, but the ropes were too short.
“Absolutely not, do you hear me?” Saul’s reaction was immediate—certain. “I will not allow even a single scratch. That’s why I’m going to train: to protect you.”
Her eyes watched something in the distance she could quite not see, but it was not Saul. “But… Only one of us can make it out. There’s only one victor.”
“And it’s you.”
“What will happen to you?”
It was a terrible question. Saul wouldn’t answer it. She would know what he meant, and he did as well. Saying it out loud would only have punched a deeper hole in him. “Saul…” Peara squeaked. “Why do you stick up for me?”
“What?” he asked, baffled. “Why would you ask something like that?”
“The world hates me. Everyone hates me, just because I was born with this… this thing that makes my skin pale. So, why do you look out for me? Because then they try to get you too.”
“You’re my sister,” Saul reassured her. That had always been the answer. There was no other. “I love you more than anything. And you may not realize this, but you’re there for me just as much as I’m there for you. We’re all we have left.”
She looked down at her cuffed hands, wrists chafed and bleeding. “But… If I win the Hunger Games, what will I have left?”
“You’ll be alive. I’ll look out for you, from wherever I am. I’ll be there. Don’t you worry.”
“How can I not be worried, Saul?”
“I don’t know…” Saul’s words had frozen inside of him. Why am I like this? he asked. He had never been the most eloquent, but normally he could get the job done. But this time, there were no words. There was solemnity. “I just…” He let out a long sigh. “I just wish that whatever happens in your life, that people would see you as you… And not just an Albar.”
“I want to live,” she cried.
“So do I.”
“I want it to stop.”
“So do I.”
A few silent minutes ebbed past before the door nicked open, yielding some dusty light from the fading evening. “Oh my God!” came a familiar voice. Ethel Jugby threw herself into the room and around the table so fast, she became a blur. She threw her arms around Peara, mascara leaking down her face. “Peara, Saul! I came as soon as I got the others back to the orphanage!”
Ordinarily, Saul would have been relieved. Ethel was here to bail him out, as she always did, but this time was different… Ethel’s name on that dotted line… If Ethel had not let Munrow adopt them, they couldn’t be here right now. And yet she pretended to care… Ethel smiled down sadly at Saul, but he returned a scowl.
Munrow pushed his way into the room, with a profanity-screaming Aphrodite trailed not far behind. “Get out of my house,” Munrow said calmly. “You are trespassing here, Miss Jugby.”
Ethel shook her head. “I leave when they leave!” she screamed.
“You bitch!” howled Aphrodite Heavensbee. She flung herself across the table, with razor-sharp nails flailing through the air. Ethel dodged past one swing, but the next caught her firmly across the jaw and splattered red blood over the ground.
“ENOUGH!” Munrow bellowed. The house shook. All was silent. Aphrodite angrily huffed a strand of hair from her eye, and Munrow spoke calmly. “Leave us, Aff.”
The Capitol woman was furious, but eventually said “Yes, dear…” and made her leave.
Yes, dear. So they were involved. Saul had already begun to suspect this, but how could that even be? Heavensbee was from the Capitol, and Munrow was from Eleven?
Once all had settled, Ethel gripped Peara’s shoulder tightly and stood her ground. “I have known these kids since they were crying little babies,” she said. “And I refuse to leave without them.”
Saul had never known Ethel to take such a strong stance on anything. Perhaps there was more to this story than he knew. Munrow started, “You’re going to leave. This is a private establishment, or are you not familiar with the law.”
“It stopped being private the minute you turned it into a prison! These kids don’t deserve this!”
Munrow shrugged. “Neither do any of the other kids in District Eleven. Think, woman. Say I let them go with you. Then what? Someone has to take their place.”
“That’s fine by me!”
After a brief pause, the man shook his head. “Emotions are running high… And they cloud good judgment. So I’m going to ask you only one more time. Ethel. Leave my premises, and I will forget you were ever here.”
Fighting against all instinct, Saul urged her, “Please, Ethel, just go…”
Ethel was shivering. Munrow was twice the size of her, and yet still she said “No.”
Bang.
The explosion set Saul’s ears immediately to ring. In Munrow’s hand… a revolver. A casing hit the floor, and so did Ethel.
Saul wished Peara was crying; the silence was more deafening. Blood seeped from a deep hole in Ethel’s chest. The bullet had pierced Ethel only inches away from Peara’s head, and the force of the blast had stirred and singed some of her white hair where it had been close to Ethel. This woman had raised Saul from childhood—listened to every song he ever sang, clapped for every awful play he acted in. And now her eyes were closed. They would never open again.
Munrow had already finished dragging her body outside before either Saul or Peara spoke. When that man returned, the first words Saul said were, “You are a monster…”
“I know,” he replied between heavy breaths. “But so are you. You just don’t know it yet.”
End of Chapter Fourteen
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Post by InGenNateKenny on Jul 9, 2021 5:43:57 GMT
...damn. I hate that guy.
Briar White is enigmatic. Not sure what to think. Clearly a bold person and more than meets the eye. I want to know more - what's her angle? - and evidently, that appears like we will learn more soon. I'm reserving my judgement for now.
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Post by countlivin on Jul 10, 2021 17:33:14 GMT
...damn. I hate that guy. Briar White is enigmatic. Not sure what to think. Clearly a bold person and more than meets the eye. I want to know more - what's her angle? - and evidently, that appears like we will learn more soon. I'm reserving my judgement for now. Fair enough, I suppose you'll have to see in the coming chapters. |
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Post by countlivin on Jul 15, 2021 6:25:46 GMT
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE DIMMER LIGHT
Marten Lewis
What the Lewises could not afford in sugary icing, they made up for with an inferno of wax candles. In rounds, the family filled the house with raucous song. His uncles sang baritone, the kids sang shrill, but for a single moment, they all remembered what they were so thankful for. Marten’s feigned smile weighed heavy upon his lips, but he wore it for his mother.
When Mom blew out the fiftieth candle, Cousin Calmar asked, “What did you wish for, Aunt Salma?”
And with a gleaming smile only she could produce, Mom responded, “I didn’t wish for anything! I have everything I need right here.”
And gray-bearded Reven Parker, who was not related, but lived by the bank just down the street, put bow to fiddle. His son played a guitar and his daughter played a drum, and the Lewises pitched in with their shuffling feet on the warped wood floor. When it was evident there was not near enough space for the party, it spilled out into the yard.
When the Parkers finished playing and the cousins came inside, slices of pound cake were being dished out by Uncle Avery. First, the cake went to Mom as was tradition, then to the younger kids who scarfed it down as soon as they got their paws on it. When Marten was passed his portion, he hesitated—not because it did not look delicious, and not because he wasn’t starving, but because it was bought with dirty money. The entire house—all the peeling walls, the sturdy ceiling, and the five acres surrounding—was bought with money that Grandad had earned behind their backs. When he took a bite, the sweetness tasted sour.
In several hours, the clock would strike midnight and the next day would begin. The fight had not ended in creek last night; it had only been postponed. Still, Marten had not told anyone what he had learned, or that Ronn and his morphling-deprived posse would be arriving at any time tomorrow. Marten remembered the sharp jab of the pistol’s barrel on his forehead. Tomorrow, that pistol could be trained on any one of his family members, and this time the trigger may actually be pulled.
But what could he say? “Hello everyone, turns out the family business is actually just a coverup for a morphling-smuggling operation and some addicts that Grandad up and died on are coming to kill us.” Even while muttering the words in his mind, they sounded wrong.
No. Marten was determined to settle this without his family’s help. In order to do so, he would need to meet Ronn on neutral ground instead of the Lewis estate, and he would need to bring some firepower. But first, he needed answers.
After the party, Marten hugged his mother tightly. “Happy birthday, Mom,” he said. “I love you.”
“Oh, thank you, Marten!” Mom replied, and with her bloodhound’s nose, asked, “What’s wrong, honey?”
Marten wore the smile again and lied. “Nothing is wrong.”
He waded through the ranks of Lewises and made for the front door. As his right hand turned the knob, his left instinctively reached for his spear. When his fingers met empty air, Marten remembered. He was going to get it back—of that he was sure. What he was prepared to do for it remained a question. He grabbed the lantern instead.
“Where ya goin, kid?” asked Great Uncle Ermine. One of his arms was around Aunt Clow and the other was holding a fork rooted firmly in the cake. When Marten saw his face, Grandad’s visage grinned back as if telling him, “You don’t want to know.”
He didn’t. “Heading out for some air.”
Uncle Ermine slapped Marten’s arm with mirth. “You gonna sneak off and drink all the liquor at Nemo’s again, boy?”
Aunt Clow laughed. “I bet he ain’t even gonna leave us any!”
“I have to go,” Marten struggled, and cut them off with a slam of the door. He loved his great aunt and uncle, but he couldn’t allow himself to fall into the festivity. If he did, he would never climb out, and he needed to do this tonight before it was too late. A slice of cake was enough.
Two dozen steps away from the house, the lantern light flickering in the wind off the sea, Marten heard the door creak open again, followed by the roar of the party leaking into the night. “Just like that, huh?” said Willy, closing the door after herself. “You off to sulk alone on the cliff? Or will it be by the brook this time?”
Marten turned in exasperation. He couldn’t deal with Willy. Not right now.
“And on Mom’s birthday, for cryin’ out loud! Marten!” she continued, meeting him down the walk. “Are you throwin’ a fit? Sittin’ at the dinner table lookin’ like you’re gonna kill someone the whole time, and you think no one noticed?” But I tried to smile… “You really dragged down the mood. And the moment someone points it out, you storm off!”
“Who pointed it out?” he asked. Marten hadn’t noticed.
“Jill. Like seriously, everyone was talkin’ about how you look so upset. Aunt Myra had to talk Mom down from stopping her party—HER party—to figure out what the matter was. I told her I’d talk to you as a compromise. So here I am. What is it that has you so in the ditch? Is it that little scratch on your head? Do you need me to kiss it and make it—”
“Stop,” Marten said.
He tried to turn back toward the road, but Willy caught his shoulder and pulled him back around. When she saw his face illuminated yellow by the lantern, she softened a bit. “God, is it something serious? What happened, man? Like, really, just tell me. I’m worried. We all are.”
“I’m going to see Dad.”
Her face went white. “What? Why?”
Marten paused, listening to the muffled music and laughter from the house, and finally said, “Last night I was attacked in the creek. You know the—”
She gasped. “Oh my God, Marten, you were attacked?” She realized she had interrupted and silenced herself.
Marten continued. “After you left, Ronn, the carpenter’s boy came down and found me in the river. He told me some terrible things… about the business, and about Grandad… And then he threatened me. He said I need to supply him with morphling by tomorrow, or he’s going to come to our house… And he’s going to kill someone.”
The wind howled and smelled of salt. Willy slowly asked, “Where does he think you’re going to get morphling? That stuff is crazy illegal if you’re not in a hospital, or something…”
“Yeah,” Marten agreed. “He said… He told me that the family business isn’t exactly what we’ve been led to believe.”
“What do you mean?”
“Grandad sold it, Willy.” The words were so repulsive, he could hardly say them. “He sold morphling to the carpenters, and to who knows who else… I just don’t know what to believe anymore.”
Willy looked as though she wanted to laugh. Marten had felt that way too when first he’d heard. “And now that he’s dead, they’re wanting to buy it from you…”
“And a lot of it,” Marten nodded. “Grandad stopped supplying them a couple months before his death, and Ronn was talking about us owing them for that time. They want three months’ worth. I don’t even know how much that is!”
“So, the guy’s going to what, just come here and kill someone?” Willy began pacing in the dirt, thinking out loud. “Sounds like he ain’t got a head on those shoulders! There’s fifty of us, all of us bigger than him, even the kids!”
“He’s gonna bring more,” said Marten, “and they have guns.”
Willy’s breath fell out of her chest. “Where the hell did they get guns? Only Peacekeepers get those!”
“I don’t know.”
When the music inside reached its conclusion, the hollering and the noise slowed, so Marten and Willy kept their voices down. “Marten, we don’t need to go get Dad involved… You know what he’s capable of when we’re in danger. That would be the worst possible thing to do.”
“I need answers,” Marten pressed. “If Grandad told anyone about these dealings with the morphling, he woulda told Dad. He’s the heir after all.” Then he admitted, “And I can’t do this alone. I need Dad’s help.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Willy shook her head. “Whatever happens, we’re in this together, you hear me? We got each other’s backs.”
“Yeah.”
“We need to go to the Peacekeepers,” she insisted. “We need to go and file for protection. They’ll be able to help us.”
Marten had already turned over that option. “The Peacekeepers are lazy. You know how long they take to get people stationed! Ronn’s comin’ tomorrow. By the time the Peacekeepers get here, it could be too late. Someone could be dead. We have to do this ourselves.”
“Dad’s in prison,” Willy reasoned.
“He’s broken out like three times already, he could do it again,” he said. “And even if he can’t. I just want to know what part of this is true! I want to know what Grandad was lying about.”
“Well, it’s your decision,” she huffed. “You’re the one who’s deepest in this mess. I just don’t think it’s worth getting into any more trouble. We get Dad out, and then what? We defend ourselves against Ronn and his people—hooray! Day saved! But how do we defend ourselves against the Peacekeepers?”
“We’ll figure it out,” Marten said. “We always have. If I have to take a cell beside Dad to make absolutely sure none of you get hurt, I will.”
“You really are his son, huh…?”
What should Marten do?
[A. Go to his Father.]
[B. Go to the Peacekeepers.]
You have chosen Marten to [A. Go to his Father.]
The next part will be released tomorrow.
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Post by Stephen on Jul 16, 2021 19:57:38 GMT
[A. Go to his Father.]
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Post by LiquidChicagoTed on Jul 17, 2021 2:41:35 GMT
[A. Go to his Father.]
Yeah, no, I don't trust the Peacekeepers. Willy brought up an interesting point here, only Peacekeepers get guns, so continuing that train of thought means that Ronn and his crew probably have a supplier among them, perhaps an outright ally even. Wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. Also, while Marten's storyline isn't the one I remember best from before, I think I noticed some major differences and I am excited to see where this'll lead to.
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Post by countlivin on Jul 17, 2021 3:35:20 GMT
[A. Go to his Father.]Yeah, no, I don't trust the Peacekeepers. Willy brought up an interesting point here, only Peacekeepers get guns, so continuing that train of thought means that Ronn and his crew probably have a supplier among them, perhaps an outright ally even. Wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. Also, while Marten's storyline isn't the one I remember best from before, I think I noticed some major differences and I am excited to see where this'll lead to. Yeah Marten’s storyline has almost completely diverged now. This chapter and his next chapter will be all new material. |
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raoul
New Member
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Post by raoul on Jul 18, 2021 0:17:49 GMT
Go to his father
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Post by InGenNateKenny on Jul 18, 2021 3:23:02 GMT
[B. Go to the Peacekeepers.] Come on guys, their name is literally peacekeepers. That's got to be a good sign, right?
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