[act one; chapter two - always an angel, never a god]
She was being plucked and prodded and waxed and wiped clean of all innocence and girlhood. She could feel it be sucked out of her with every question she didn't know how to answer and she could feel it bounce off of her heart with every tug on her skin and hair. She felt like a doll, not a human. Like a bird with clipped wings, kept within a gilded cage.
The people around her, the ones with extravagant makeup and too-bright clothes, were void. They showed no emotion, nothing at all. They were blank pieces of paper, too bright, too empty. They peeled a wax strip from her leg, faces a perfect show of marble stillness at her wince.
"Why are you doing all of this?" She questioned. Her eyes watched them, trailed their every movement, as they seemed to float around the room, unfazed. "Hello?"
No answer.
Until, "They are preparing you for me."
Whiplash hit her faster than what she was ready for. Leda's head spun towards the door, only to be greeted by a tiger-faced woman. She was tall—much taller than Leda—with feline features and a tiger-striped pattern tattooed onto her skin. She was beautiful in the most exotic way.
The first thing that Leda thought to say was, "What's your name?"
The woman smiled down at her. "You can call me Tigris."
Leda pushed away the hands on her skin and on her body, sitting up. She stuck a hand out. "Leda."
The stylist nodded her head, shaking the girl's hand. "Let us get you ready for the world to see."
———
Leda had to admit that Tigris was...magnificent at her job. She had been gentle, unlike everyone else, as she dressed her, did makeup, and did her hair. She had been soft and aware as her hands touched Leda's skin, as she tugged and pulled on her hair, as she stripped her down and built her back up again.
That was how she ended up in a white swan-feather pantsuit, one that reached from her low-chest to her ankles. Everything was feathers—she wasn't sure if they were real or not—except for the suit top and heeled boots, both of which were a stark white. Her feather-bound top reached low on her chest, shaped in a v, which followed the very line of the suit-top. Her pants were also made from feathers and moved with her whenever she took a step. At first look, she would have thought that they would be itchy or rough against her legs, but they were really quite soft, almost like silk. She felt like falling over whenever she walked, the heels on her boots so high.
It was unusual, but beautiful.
Tigris placed a hand on her shoulder. She smiled. "You are beautiful."
They are interrupted by the knock of a fist against the door. A knock that sends chills down Leda's back, because she knows, in that moment, that the clock is reaching its last seconds.
The door opened and in walked Maxime, his hands clasped behind his back. "Darling, you look stunning! Absolutely enchanting."
Leda feels heat rush to her cheeks. She was not used to the attention, to the compliments. She was used to gray clothes and plain hair, no makeup. She was used to being average, nothing special to look at. No one stopped to watch and let their eyes trail after her, not to watch her fade into dust. No one questioned it, either, when Finnick Odair's eyes lingered, or when Peacekeepers watched her closer than before. She was a beautiful girl, but she wasn't...enchanting, as Maxime seemed to think.
She, however, is enchanted by the performances of those on the screen in front of her, the ones that she suspects have been acting all their lives. The people of the Capitol have falsified smiles that she sees through, poison dripping from their tongues and lies falling from their lips. She sees the deception in their eyes and the way it weighs them down from the makeup that masks their peeling and sagging skin.
She sees it; she just wishes that others did, too.
Before she knows it, she is being forced to become like them. She is guided from the room where she has been since she arrived, dressed in a form of attire that she has never worn before. She could look in a mirror and not recognize the girl—no, woman—staring back at her. Not with her skin coated in makeup and her hair pulled back so tight her scalp hurt. It felt like everyone around her stared at her as if this woman she was dressed as was the real her. Everyone but Finnick.
Finnick stared at her with wide eyes and mouth agape. With pinched brows and words stuck in his throat. He stared at her the way that he did because he knew what it meant. It meant that her childhood was being pulled from her hands, and her from him, from the safety that they had once known. Because these clothes, the makeup, the extravagance...it was all a sign of what was to come.
He leaned against the doorway of the room, arms crossed over his chest. He stared at her like she was a stranger. On the outside, he supposed, she was. But on the inside was the girl he had grown up beside. The girl who enjoyed simply sitting on the beach, listening to the waves and feeling the sand beneath her feet. The girl who would tip her head to the sky and feel the wind and the sun. The girl who liked quiet days, slow mornings, and painting in the cove near her family's home. The girl who helped anyone who asked and would continue to do so until she no longer could. This was the girl who played games with her brother even when she was tired; the girl who somehow always managed to put up with Finnick's teasing and wild behavior.
But he pushed it back and said, "It's time, Leda. We gotta go."
And as those last seconds ticked down on the clock, Leda entered the main room of the Training Center, hands holding up her pants, chest growing tighter and tighter as every second passed.
Saylor was already waiting for them, dressed in attire similar to her own, adjusted to fit his body. Like her, he was covered, yet too exposed. Exposed in a way that neither of them wanted to experience.
He smiled at her, nonetheless, and offered his arm. Not once, in those moments, did he let his facade slip or break or disappear. He held onto her just as much as she held onto him, even more so as they were guided to the chariot. But even as they kept up the image of supposed perfection, Leda could feel Saylor's body shake. Whether it was with nerves or anger or something else, she could feel it more than she could feel anything else.
Maxime guided them up onto the chariot, a forced smile on his face. Finnick, however, clenched his jaw and balled his fists within his pockets, and said nothing about the stares on his back or the whispers in his ears.
He rests his hands on the edge of the chariot and looks up as the two tributes fidget with their hands, unsure and afraid. Regardless of if they said it, he knew. He knew because he had felt it himself.
"You may not want to, but you need to smile at the crowds. Wave. Get them excited. That's how you get sponsors. Make them like you," he said. "That's how you win. And one of you needs to win."
Saylor reached down and grasped Leda's hand. He nudged her with his elbow and forced a smile. "You hear that? One of us is going to get out of here." He lifted his hand. With a smile, she linked their pinky fingers together and nodded. "Promise."
She said back, "Promise."
If you told her then that the promise would come true, just not in the way she imagined, Leda Bryne would not believe you.
———
Everything was so loud. The cheering, the drums, the wheels of the chariot beneath her. Saylor's choppy breathing, even her own. It drowned out everything around her, but truly, she felt like she was drowning.
As the crowds around them cheered, Saylor and Leda linked hands, the other waving at all of the many people waving down at them. She forced a smile on her face and waved at all of these people who were waiting to watch her die.
As they came around the bend of the long strip of road, just out of the Training Center, Leda fought to keep that smile on her face. And even closer they neared; even more Leda could not look away from the man who watched her as if she was his next kill, as if he too was about to enter the arena to fight to the death. Her eyes locked onto President Snow's and not once did either of them look away.
She bowed her head to him, as he then did to her. It was almost instinctual. The commentators, wherever they were, seemed to agree, because Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith hummed in appreciation. Caesar even went so far to say, "My, my. Doesn't she...well, doesn't she remind you of a swan, folks?" He laughed.
The crowds seemed to roar at that. All cheers and clapping and sounds of celebration for death and blood grew louder and louder, the noise pressing up against Leda's temples, thundering in her ears.
Caesar laughs again, and this time she can see him on a screen. "Leda Byrne from District 4 everyone! The Capitol's Swan!"
And thus she is branded as their own. Their property, their tool, but never their fool.
Saylor clutches her hand in his and, with a nod, they both bow at the waist, presenting themselves to the prey. Like cattle to slaughter.
———
Leda lacks an appetite. She has no cravings as her days tick to an end, she feels no need to consume anything to make her stronger; to give her a chance at survival in the arena. So she finds herself standing on the roof of the Training Center as dinner concludes, arms braced against the railing as a support.
She feels the chill of the breeze against her arms, thanks to the windy summer night she finds herself in. Though, she supposes, her outfit of silk shorts and a tank top are not doing much to protect her from such a breeze as she stands amongst the city skyline.
"Hi."
Leda spins on her heel, faster than she anticipated, and braces one of her hands against her chest, a breath leaving her in relief. "Oh, you scared me."
The girl in front of her waves her hands anxiously in front of her. "I apologize."
"It's...it's okay."
The girl, Leda observes, is her age, or just about. Long icy blonde hair and gray eyes. A long, thin physique with a kind smile, and something curious about her.
She approaches and sticks her hand out. "My name is Poppy. Poppy Abernathy."
Leda returns the gesture with nothing more than a small smile in return. "Leda Bryne."
"I know!" Poppy chirps. She has energy. Lots of it. "My dad is Haymitch, he's the mentor for District 12. He's told me all about you and your family. Your grandma was Minerva Madeleno, right?"
And Leda nods. "Yes. Um...did you ever meet her?"
"No," Poppy shakes her head, a slight frown pulling at her pale lips. All of her is so pale; it's strange to Leda. "But my dad did. A long time ago. He said she was a mentor when he won his games, so they knew each other in that way. He always said she was incredibly nice."
Leda nods again. That seems to be all that she does at this point. She doesn't have much to say, especially not to someone she doesn't particularly know. Well, she doesn't know Poppy at all. Not truly. She may know her name and know who her father is, but Leda believes that does not exactly equate to truly knowing a person.
The blonde passes her like a breath in the wind, wrapping her hands around the railing of the roof. She leans forward and a small smile ghosts her face. "It is beautiful, don't you think?"
"I guess." Leda shrugs, joining her at the edge. "Though I think just because it's beautiful doesn't mean it's good."
"I agree. Honest." Poppy lets that smile fall. Something sad, albeit small, lingers in her gaze. She picks at the skin around her fingernails—she's nervous. Or anxious. Perhaps both. "There is so much light and color here; it feels like another world."
Leda pulls her gaze from the city skyline and turns her entire body towards Poppy. She's shorter than the blonde, she notices, as they stand side by side. "Why are you here? In the Capitol, I mean. Most of the victor's children stay in their District."
"I can't leave my dad alone. He practically drowns in alcohol every time he's alone."
The brunette pauses, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. "Poppy?"
"Yeah?"
"Your dad is not your responsibility."
The blonde nods. Smiles. She pushes off of the railing and starts to back away, bouncing lightly on her toes. The wind blows at her long hair, the pale strands blowing all around her. Chaotic and unbound. Leda can't help but think that Poppy is that way, too.
Before the blonde reaches the elevator, however, she pauses and turns towards Leda again. "Be careful of the other Careers. Be wise with where you put your trust. People in the arena will snatch it up like a kid with candy." With a hand on the button, she smiles lightly. It's fake. "I hope you make it out, Leda. You deserve to find some real light and color, not just this artificial world."
Leda does not see Poppy again for a long time after that.
———
Leda feels like a stranger in a crowd of friends as she and twenty-three other children enter the room where they learn the skill of murder. The clothes she wears feel too tight and her hair pulls at her scalp too much. She feels like she is a pearl sitting at the ocean floor amongst the rocks and shards of glass.
She feels like she does not belong.
She can feel the eyes of the other tributes on her, for whatever reason. Especially the other Careers. And she says other, because she, too, is a Career.
The eyes of the District 1 tributes, Athena Andelit and Malachi Dumas, on her. She feels like they are the predators and she is the prey. And like them the tributes from District 2, Birdie O'Sullivan and Cassius Baros, track her every movement, as though they are waiting for her to do something, anything.
Leda walks through the room, not allowing her expression or body language to give any of her anxiety and fear away. Not as she scans every person in the room the same way that they do to her. Not as she walks towards the very back of the large room where a metal stand holds weapons that she knows all too well.
She lifts a spear in her hand, choosing it over the single trident, as the lighter, slimmer weapon has always felt better in her palm. She feels its slight weight and when she twists it around in her hand she swears that she can hear her father's voice in her head, telling her how to hold it, how to use it.
She lines herself up with the target across the way and draws in a sharp breath, one that causes her lungs to burn and scream at her, as if she were submerged under water. Drawing back her arm, she changes her grip, cradling the shaft of the weapon in the palm of her hand, rather than with her fingertips, which will guide it as it releases. With another release of air, Leda pivots at her hips and launches the weapon through the air, feeling the slice of its physique against the side of her face as it sails through the air, unbound and dangerous.
And just as expected, the spear makes its mark at the center of the bullseye.
The air around her seems to still and when she looks around Leda realizes just how far the target was, just how far she threw the spear like it was nothing but a featherlight object. She realizes just how many eyes are on her, how many have been watching.
The District 3 tributes stare at her in awe and amazement, as if she were a new form of technology. Perl Moreau, although small and slight, was an incredibly talented engineer, having already been recruited by the Capitol's best at her early age. The older girl of only sixteen stares with wide, curious eyes, while her partner, Xander Martin, narrows his gaze, like he's assessing all that she may be capable of under the surface.
Leda flinches when a hand clasps her shoulder. Her gaze shoots up to meet Saylor's. He's smiling, she notices immediately. "That was incredible, Leda."
She shakes him off, her head swaying back and forth. She pinches her eyes closed, fists balled, nails cutting into her skin, no doubt breaking through the surface. "No, no. No, it wasn't." She storms past him, towards the very back of the room where a rope station lies. She begins to tie and knot without much thought as Saylor stands over her shoulder. "I shouldn't have done that. Now they know."
"Know what?"
"That I'm like them, Saylor. That I have training and know how to kill. Which makes them want to kill me more."
But he doesn't understand. "Maybe they'll want to form an alliance with you, then. If they know your skills—"
"No! Saylor, listen to me." Leda stops what she is doing and stares up at him, utterly afraid. "They will form an alliance and stab each other in the back, because for them that is the only way to survive. I don't want an alliance with people who could turn on me at any moment."
"And who's to say you wouldn't do the same?" He asks, challenging her.
With a sigh, Leda looks down, tears burning in her eyes. "That's the point. I don't want to be like them. I don't want to murder people in cold blood. I don't want that." She looks back up at him and says, "They may make an alliance, or try, but under it all they are doing it to get closer to me or you, the people they see as a threat, so that they can eliminate us. That is the Game."
But Leda knows, in a way that Saylor does not, how the great Game works. How you pretend and fake so much of "who you are" in order to appease those with power. You cover your hands in crimson and allow poison to drip from your tongue. You lie and lie and lie, and kill and kill and kill, and scheme and scheme and scheme. That is the very fabric of the Game, and she never thought that she would have to play it, but here is where she finds herself caught in Snow's web that he has carefully crafted since the very beginning.
And she sees that shift in his eyes, the shift that tells her Saylor is just now beginning to understand.
Always an angel, never a god. Always tribute, never a victor. That is how they win.
Chapter 2! There was a lot that happened in this chapter, and I'm not going to lie, there was some foreshadowing. If you know where to look, you'll find it ;)
Anywho, I'm sorry for not posting for soooo long! I just finished my junior year, so I had a lot of tests and things going on, but I should be able to update more regularly, I hope 🙏!
Alright, BYE! I hope you enjoyed!