A Circus of Eagles [An HG Fanfic]

Mirror

Consider Walt.

Walt serves.

He stands guard and sleeps only in controlled hour-long bursts. He calls Probus Fidelis 'sir'. He calls Danae nothing: what is she? what is she for? She is not his job. She is just a person. There are hundreds and hundreds like her. He listens to her, answers her when she asks him questions, protects her at this time because she is no threat, but if she pulls a knife on Probus Fidelis, he will kill her. Snap her neck without hesitation. Stab her. Crush her. It will be nothing to him, nothing. And if it is he and Probus Fidelis still standing, he will turn the blade on himself without hesitation, because that is what he does. Walt serves the Capitol, even in its reduced state. He serves the power that supported him. The President needs her nephew alive. Walt is placed to make sure of it. If he were given to introspection, he would wonder if this is deliberate, but he isn't, and so he doesn't.

Walt was a boy once, a golden shining boy, but that was a long time ago and he hardly remembers him. He saw him in a mirror once. He was small. Blonde. Pudgy little cheeks. A child. When he looks at his reflection now, he sees a Peacekeeper, twenty, fresh from training and full of zeal, a face made by the Capitol. Hardened, obedient. He does not like those who break the rules. It is nothing personal; people are just people. But the rules are forever. When he heard the Capitol had fallen and the rules had changed, his world shook, just for a moment. Then he donned his uniform and did his duty.

Even in the arena, if he were to glance in a puddle, he would see himself in his white suit and his face half-covered by a visor.

And consider Milo.

Milo serves.

He prowls around the arena, sniffing for blood. He might be hungry, but he doesn't feel it; he might be tired, but he doesn't truly sleep. His dreams are frightened faces and he towers over them, big and powerful, but the feeling scares him awake. He doesn't hide. He is not sure if he cares whether he lives or dies, only that he finds Walt, the boy who accused him wrongly, the boy who stands for the people who took his tongue. Perhaps he should be searching for Probus Fidelis too, but Milo is no fool and is sensitive to some things, as only someone who has no choice but to watch is. The Ferrous boy has some kind of feeling around him, his own kind of barrier, that makes the Avox wary. He has a presence. Milo knows he could never have served someone like him. Milo serves the weak, the cruel, the greedy. Those who need someone below them to feel human. Some worse than others, all more than him. 

Milo was a boy once, a tall, dark boy from District Ten who ran from the hut to watch tornadoes, but that was a long time ago and he doesn't trust his memories. They injected him, he thinks, with something that scrambled his mind and gave him false thoughts. He had a different name. He had a different home. There was a woman who smiled and scowled, hugged and hit. He does not know which to believe. When he looks at his reflection he sees someone who should be invisible. Tall and strong, dressed in swathes of silver, but you would think him whole until he opens his mouth. He has to speak with his hands.

In the arena, he has nobody to speak to.

***

"You know," says Danae, leaning back against a gravestone with her knees tucked up against her chest, to keep in the heat, "it's almost boring."

Walt says nothing. Probus Fidelis laughs. "If only we had some kind of screen with us. We could play games. Actual games, not just asking each other questions."

"Listen to tunes?"

"Check the news."

"Read the holomags."

"Check our odds."

Danae asks, "Do you think there's betting?"

Probus Fidelis gives a grin, gentle, just a touch mocking but not enough to get upset about. "The Capitol may be subdued, but some things will never change. Of course there's betting."