Fandom Inexorable | Main Story

[sollie]

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in·ex·o·ra·ble

ˌinˈeksərəb(ə)l/
adjective
impossible to stop or prevent.
"We are inexorable."

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[sollie]

willow adler

district 7

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anxious

District 7, Town Square

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I remember damage.

“You don’t understand!” The voice swelled with frustration– and sadness. “None of you get it!” The voice emerged from a small house at the corner of the town, storming through dusty roads as another voice pleaded with her. “Will, come on.” The voice demanded. This was the voice of her brother, her oldest brother, and the brother she was currently irritated with. “Will. Stop it. You can’t go out today and you know it!” His voice reached her ears but it was clear she didn’t listen; she was on a mission and she wouldn’t stop until she reached where she was going.

Today of all days… Soft feet padded along a dirt path, winding endlessly into an ever reaching abyss of trees that kissed the sky. She wanted to yell. She wanted to cry. All things only Cedar Adler could make her want to do. There age difference made it difficult to communicate most days– Cedar being the eldest, and Willow being the youngest– second youngest, technically. He knew more. He worked more. He wanted what was best for Willow. But in reality, Cedar had no idea just how terrified Willow was for the day.

As she found herself traveling through the forest, soft beams of sunlight shining in from the forest tops and bursting into hundreds of rays, she stopped, standing still and taking a small breath. The forest was her home and even the few moments she’d been in it, her mind settled from the uproar it was in moments before. The argument she and Cedar got into was a stupid one– he wanted to be early to the town square to avoid any complications. As if Willow hadn’t gone through this day four years in a row, just as her brothers had when they were her age. She didn’t want to go early. Cedar didn’t like that. And as all siblings do so well– they escalated things into a near yelling match, which resulted in Willow fleeing.

Staying in the woods wasn’t possible and she knew it. If she didn’t check in, Peacekeepers would be on her track like a moth to a flame, searching and hunting every inch of her beloved haven until they found her and made an example of her. Rocking the boat like that didn’t sound like a great idea in her book. Besides, Willow had three more years and she’d be free of this awful day. Looking down at the dress her mother sewed for her two years ago, fitting a bit snuggly in some places and loose in others, Willow looked back at the path she’d just traveled. Being late would only upset Cedar.

Taking a small breath in, Willow’s eyes shut, breathing for a few seconds longer. Six times her name was in. Six chances for her to be called up, just as Hadley had. The odds were in her favor, much more than other kids. But a chance was still a chance and that alone filled Willow with anxiety and nerves. As she centered herself, she flattened the nonexistent wrinkles on her dress. If there was a mirror to check herself, she would’ve. Looking at where the sun was in the sky through the thicket of trees, the girl began at a quickened pace through the forest, deviating from the path.

Running through trees and brush, it might not have been the cleanest route to go, but it would be the fastest way. As she neared the edge of town, the buzz from each person, worried and hushed whispers filled her ears. The hot air of summer clung to their anxiety filled bodies and weighed them down, possibly even more than their child being chosen. Pacing the length of the houses, Willow dusted again, checking her hair for leaves and twigs that would inevitably have been stuck in.

“Willow!” Shouted a friendly voice. Directing her eyes towards the horizon, a soft smile appeared on her face. Delilah. Offering a small wave, the girls met in the middle, with Delilah looping arms with her. “Silas told me you and Cedar got into it. Said you threw a chair at his head.”

Willow’s lips pursed into a thin line. “I did not throw a chair at his head.” She said defiantly. “It was a book.” Delilah laughed, shaking her head. How a person could be so jovial on a day of such sorrow… she didn’t know. But Delilah’s sunny disposition reminded Willow of herself before Hadley’s reaping. It made her feel less horrified. “Book or chair, I think he deserved it. No one in this town knows how viscous you can be, little Willie, but I know! And one day… I’m gonna tell ‘em all!”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth threatening to turn into a grin at Delilah’s silliness. She could make the plants grow in total darkness with such light, Willow was sure of it.

The girls rounded the corner of the main road, coming upon the crowd of citizens of District 7 and their children, corralled into groups or lines as they were fingerprinted and identified for the reaping. Making sure every child was accounted for and ready to serve as a cruel reminder to their District of the sins committed decades ago. Willow often wondered at times if there were many still living from the time of the uprising… Any who lived through the supposed horrors that their children and grandchildren were repenting for… But all that pondering washed away coming to the town square.

It wasn’t rare to see a child on edge or tense on a reaping day. Understandably, the day came with too many worries and dreads for people of their age. But something felt off. Like electricity bounced in the air and filled their body with small shocks every few seconds. Willow felt strange and when she felt like this, she knew things were bound to turn up sour. Her intuition was the strongest of the family. Teeth dug into her bottom lip as Willow shuffled along. Delilah rattled on about something or the other, her plans for after the reaping, going climbing later in the evening, what she wanted to catch for dinner, but Willow didn’t hear. All she focused on were taking soft breaths and convincing herself paranoia was setting in and that's all it was.

Dread ate at her being like vultures to an unrecognizable carcass of some creature long forgotten, tearing flesh and bone away until the earth reclaimed whatever was left. Every fiber in her body begged her to run. The Peacekeeper pricked her finger– she’d stopped wincing after her second year, despite the discomfort it brought. Blood smeared on the spot under the name ‘Willow Adler’, marking her HERE for the reaping.

She reminded herself as the bodies of her neighbors pushed her in towards the front… three more years. Three more years and she would be free. But right now… That felt like the farthest thing from where she was.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[darkersun]

rowan eichel

district 7

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melancholy

town square

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let me rest

Like every other morning, Rowan was awake before the sun rose in the sky. Most of the time, he'd pretend to be asleep, holing up in his room or stubbornly keeping his eyes closed for hours until Oren awoke and began moving, but today he simply sat at the kitchen window, sipping a cup of tea that had long gone cold and staring aimlessly at the sidewalk outside. Thistle curled near him, never touching, but simply enjoying the proximity.

Nobody would walk across his line of sight, of course. The Victor's Village of District 7 was always quiet, with the only other living victor, the ever elusive Cyprus Brown, being quite...ancient. She would appear only during the required Capitol events, walking shakily with a cane, and then return to her home. Although technically Rowan's mentor, Cyprus never spoke to him, never offered any advice or tips other than the few gifts she'd managed to scrounge up for the arena. They'd gone their separate ways after the games, and Rowan could count the amount of times he'd spoken to her on one hand since.

Reaping day was always...an event. Previously, Rowan never took it seriously, making breakfast as always with a forced smile as he'd pretend that the day was ordinary. It almost seemed ironic, the fact that Reaping's hurt more now than before, flooding Rowan's senses with panic and pain and adrenaline that he barely managed to fend off. All cameras would be on him in just a few hours, and his tear stained eyes would not make for good introductions.

So he sat, sat until the sunrise painted across the sky and then sat some more, until Oren's footsteps padded across the staircase in the late morning, light and almost impossible to hear. If Rowan's presence downstairs shocked the younger boy, he didn't show it, instead simply climbing up on the chair next to him.

"You're going today, right?" He said, much too knowledgeable and calm for a seven year old. At first, Oren had cried and screamed whenever Rowan was forced to leave for some party or dance or otherwise stupidly unimportant event, but at some point, his younger brother had come to terms with it. Rowan didn't know whether that made him feel content or distraught. Sending a nod back, the victor raised his arm, letting Oren tuck himself underneath it, and they stayed there for just a moment before Rowan got up, beginning to prepare breakfast with a false grin pasted across his face. Practice, he told himself, for the coming weeks.

Oren chatted aimlessly as the smell of food began to drift through the space. It still shocked Rowan sometimes, the amount that he had access to. Before, breakfast was rotten, stale bread and scraps from the night before that Rowan forced them both to choke down, but now? Now there was access to a full fridge and Oren's complaints that he simply couldn't eat another bite. It almost made the actions it took for them to receive this luxury worth it.

Allowing Oren to sleep in had wasted quite a bit of time, thankfully. This day did not hold it's punches as it dragged Rowan across hot coals repeatedly, but as they finished breakfast, the clock in the living room signaled that it was time to prepare. Much too young, Oren would remain in the Victor's Village during the reaping, watching the broadcast with his babysitter as required, but not being present. Oren had already been present enough, and Rowan knew that when his brother aged just a few more years, this day would be infinitely worse for the both of them.

The clothes his design team had picked out were plain - simple dress pants and a unnaturally white shirt, both soft as a baby's bottom. It had taken ages for Rowan to convince them that he didn't have to get "Capitol" dressed up, culminating in a screaming match and at least two members bursting out in tears, but he'd won the battle. Even with the years passing, Rowan couldn't help but catalogue the price of such items in District 7. A month's work for the pants, at least, and much more for the shirt. It felt distanced from reality, and the victor bit back a glare towards himself in the mirror as he brushed his hair and applied the lightest bit of glittered shadow to his eyes. It had been the winning arrangement to end the argument - eyeshadow in exchange for the clothes.

Oren's babysitter, a middle aged woman with a wrinkles near her eyes, arrived just minutes later, smiling weakly towards Rowan as she scurried past. Oren adored her, but she'd never warmed up to Rowan. Likely from the broadcasts - Rowan could relate.

Then, just like that, it was time to leave. The brothers said their goodbye's, warm but careful with the new eyes in the room, and Rowan grinned as his brother slid a new friendship bracelet onto his bare wrist. The original bracelet was his token, worn into the arena but destroyed as the string weathered. Although Rowan had worried fiercely about his brother's reaction, Oren had simply shrugged and made a new one. Now Rowan had dozens, all hanging up in his room, and each time Rowan left once more, a new bracelet would join the mix.

"Be good, okay? I love you." said Rowan as he closed the door behind him.

Peacekeepers were standing near the gates of Victor's Village, Cyprus already waiting. She looked away from him. Rowan looked ahead. The peacekeepers wasted no time, marching them directly to the main road, and depositing them at the stage. From then on, Rowan's brain devolved in fuzziness.

Standing on the stage was too familiar, it was too reminiscent, and just like the year before, it was all Rowan could do to keep his eyes forward and his legs still as the crowd filled up the town center in front of him. He stayed like that, mind unsure and hardly keeping it together as the mayor began talking, welcoming everyone.

In all honestly, Rowan lost track of time from there, but his mind returned as Aema Flitzerwade joined the stage. A tall, thin, and unbelievably calm woman, Rowan forced himself to pay attention as she delivered the introductory monologue, and began the reaping with a customary "Ladies first." in her high, lilting voice. It only took a second - her long, nails picking a singular slip with only a second's pause, and Aema read the name written within.

"Willow Adler."

Rowan knew that name.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[sollie]

willow adler

district 7

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aching

town square

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The waves are not gentle. They pull me under and steal my breath.

The air felt tense in anticipation as Aema Flitzerwade walked onto stage, the daunting ‘click, click, click’ of her heel indicating with each approaching step, one of their names would be called. Regardless of whatever prewritten speech she rattled off, in a few, short moments, they would send away one of their own. One of their neighbors, brothers or sisters and friends. The girls that stood with Willow clutched each other's hands and Willow was quietly grateful for the grounding. The delicate hands of the younger girls clinging to hers made her feel a sense of calm. At least, regardless of the fate that awaited one of them, they still held to each other, banding together for comfort.

Taking a deep breath, Willow held her breath as the seconds of shuffling in the glass filled her body with electricity, so volatile and dangerous, she believed she could die from a wrong spark any second. And most of that feeling of warning was confirmed when Aema read off the name. She read of the girls name first. Her name. Willow Adler.

The girls clutching her hands looked up to her in deep concern and sorrow, little eyebrows pinched together as they slowly released her hands, leaving her alone in the crowd full of possible tributes. Only, now they were most certainly not tributes. Looking around with wide eyes, moving her body was difficult. She felt stiff and unreal, almost as if any moment Cedar would shake her awake and beg her to help him split firewood. But as her feet moved forward and her hands dug into the soft green fabric, it felt very real. The silence from her District felt deafening. Not a cry, not a yell, only the crushing sound of nothing to fill her ears.

As she stepped into the main aisle, a group of Peacekeepers joined her, roughly placing their hands on her shoulders and elbows as they guided her towards the stage. Willow stumbled, but caught herself. It was all she could do, in the state of shock she’d been thrusted into. Her brothers couldn’t volunteer for her, they were too old, and they were boys. Willow Adler had no one to take her spot. No volunteer to save her from the inevitable death sentence she received.

Staring at the stairs, her body refused to move forward anymore, tight fists balling the once ironed fabric into wads that would likely wrinkle if kept like that for too long. A sharp ringing in her ears felt as though it was the only thing she could hear, grappling with too many emotions and feelings all at once. The poke in her back from one of the Peacekeepers, who grumbled something unkind to her, urged her to ascend to the side of Aema. It must’ve taken an eternity for her to reach the stoic woman, for when she finally faced the crowd, she swore the sky filled with clouds. A strike of thunder crashing through the air felt only fitting in that moment. It never came.

Searching the crowds for her brothers, her eyes scanned frantically through the faces, looking for something familiar in the sea of relief. Had she been any other person, anger would’ve bubbled inside her looking at their relief in her misfortune. Finally, her eyes found Ferric and Cedar, both of which looked fixated on the ground. ‘Look up,’ She thought, trying to ward off the worry and tearful anger that threatened to break her expressionless face. ‘Please look at me.’ But the look never came, causing Willow to tighten her fists even more and turn her gaze to the ground. The dull nail of her fingers dug crescents into the flesh of her palm.

Aema continued with the ceremony, of course not caring about the grief and anguish she imposed on Willow or any of District 7, instead carrying on to the male tribute. “And the male tribute for District Seven will be…” Willow heard Aema speaking, but she processed none of it, trying to self soothe with small, steady breaths. The grating noise of long fingernails and skin brushing against the thick paper of each folded up card could drive a person mad. “Gareth Steele.” Aema announced finally. A similar affair occurred with Gareth, only, it seemed a girl called his name out. A family member.. The boy sulked his way up, scuffling his feet up, just as she had, shocked, hurting, and in disbelief it was him, out of all the hundreds of others, that was chosen. “Let’s give it up for the brave tributes from District 7!”

These two were the farthest thing from brave. Willow mustered up enough courage to look Gareth’s way, only to see tears rolling down his cheeks, plopping on the stage at a steady pace. If Willow wasn’t mistaken, Gareth turned thirteen only a few days prior to Reaping Day. His second reaping. And his last. Younger kids never made it out alive in the Games. It wasn’t often she felt so cynical, but the current situation looked grim.

Peacekeepers escorted the two inside, where they were allotted time to visit with loved ones. Willow expected her brothers. However, they never came. And the silent waiting stung worse than anything the boys could’ve said to her. Her eyes stung with tears she wished wouldn’t come. Looking at the four marks in her hand, pigmented with blood that almost broke the surface, the salty tears that poured from her eyes spilled onto the sensitive indentations. Despite the gentle pain, Willow didn’t move from where she sat, hoping, holding her breath, that any minute Cedar and Ferric and Silas and Creek and her parents would burst through the door and wrap her up tight and tell her she would come home, that they wanted her to come home. Instead, the door cracked open, and her journey to hell was about to begin.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[darkersun]

rowan eichel

district 7

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melancholy

town square

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back once again

Deep breaths. Rowan was focused on taking deep breaths as the Adler girl found her way up. They hadn't met, not officially, but her last name was all too familiar. Memories flashed quickly, almost overwhelming in their intensity as Rowan remembered. He remembered Cedric, proudly telling stories of his little sister who seemed to be at home in the very heights Rowan hated. He remembered Ferric, teaching him a rope tying strategy years ago, telling stories of one Willow Adler's mishaps with the technique. He remembered Hadley, dying in the games the year before Rowan himself went, and watching the family grieve one of their own. Rowan hadn't spoken to the Adler's in years, but the silence of the crowd brought him pain anyway.

He couldn't fail them.

And just like that, Rowan's mentor instincts awoke. Suddenly, the world felt sharper, more controlled, more rational, as his eyes gazed at Willow critically. Short and thin. Those would be downsides. She didn't cry, thankfully, which spoke of some sort of inner strength, and although the girl was rather....panicked, her emotions weren't out of control. Rowan could work with this. Strategies began running through his head - ways to play everything to his advantage towards the sponsors.

The boy on the other hand? The pessimistic, rational side of Rowan instantly told him to cut the losses. A thirteen year old's chances were incredibly slim, even if from the Career districts, but the tears made the situation almost unsalvageable already. It was a horrible thought, and Rowan knew he would try to keep him alive anyway, but all he could think was that the boy deserved the most painless death possible. No thirteen year old should be waiting for death, and yet, the games demanded it.

And just like that, The Reaping was over, concluded with Aema's yearly comment. To most, it was time to sigh with relief, to gather in the square and thank whatever spirits kept them from the games, but Rowan's torture was just beginning. While Aema would be escorted straight to the train, Rowan, as he learned the year before, would be stationed in his own room between the tribute's waiting rooms, open for anyone to visit him instead.

The year previously, nobody took up the offer, but as Rowan was systematically ushered towards the room, he noticed familiar faces already waiting outside. He tightened his own fists, positioning his face into a blank slate once more as the peacekeepers herding him opened the door, allowing Rowan to walk in first, then the all-too-familiar visitors.

For a moment, there was silence, one that Rowan was unsure of how to break. He couldn't promise Willow's safety. He couldn't promise his utter focus - not with Garreth desperately needing assistance as well. All he could promise was what was already expected - an attempt.

"Help her." Cedar spoke first, voice strong despite the obvious tears welling up in his eyes, "She can do it - I know she can, but she's horrible with social situations and - "

He cut himself off, looking away and blinking rapidly as Rowan watched. The victor himself was struggling, only imagining how he would react if Oren was on that stage, but he nodded back anyways. Rowan had never planned for failure, not since his own Hunger Games, and he refused to start now. The conversation could've been veered off course quickly, Rowan could've wasted time with previously thought false promises, but instead, he settled into focus. There was no time to waste, not with the timer quickly counting down.

"I will. " Rowan responded, after letting Cedar take a few seconds to regain control, "I will try my absolute hardest. To do that, I need to know more. What are her strengths? Weaknesses, outside of the social aspect? What can I do?"

Cedar, thankfully, understood. In the next few minutes, he explained everything, everything from Willow's climbing habits to her shyness, from the newfound tendency to run to her skill with knots. No stone was left untouched, and by the end, Rowan felt an understanding of the girl's character appear. Throughout the entirety of the conversation, Ferric sat, still and emotionless as a rock, but as Cedar's rant came to it's natural end, he suddenly spoke.

"Willow's strong. Don't count her out, and she'll surprise everyone."

Simple words, but from Ferric, they were everything. Rowan nodded once more, acknowledging the words, and placing them carefully in the "Willow" segment of his brain. And just like that, the meeting was over, as seen by the peacekeepers that stepped into the room as warning. Rowan as it seemed, had to leave to arrive on the train before the tributes did.

To leave the conversation felt like betrayal, but Rowan knew that it was a necessity. The peacekeepers had no issue getting violent, and walking out was the easier solution. As he bid goodbye to the brothers, Cedar suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Thank you."

"Don't thank me until I get her home." Rowan replied wryly, sending a weak smile as the peacekeepers flanked his sides.

The train station itself was crawling with reporters, all flashing and screaming in Rowan's direction as he walked past them. He could reply, in fact, Rowan could hear his team almost begging him to drop a coy comment or joke to make Capitol headlines, but Rowan kept his mouth shut, simply arranging his face into a small smile as he walked inside the train. They would see too much of him in the coming weeks to hear Rowan now, he thought to himself as he took a seat at one of the large couches in the entarance room. Aema, already assuming the coming introductions from the year before, silently walked over and took a seat as well.

Their job was just about to begin.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[sollie]

willow adler

district 7

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sober

Train to the Capitol

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my heart longs for the forests gentle embrace.

Willow knew as soon as the door opened her time for visitors was over. Though, she left feeling cold and abandoned by her family. She could not blame their avoidance of the building. The Adler family experienced this once before and it was too soon to experience it again. The next chance they would have to see her would be from coverage at the Capitol, watching her every move, turning her into some altered version of herself. This was that last chance they had to say goodbye before she went off to her death. But as the Peacekeepers escorted her and Gareth to the back exit, something inside her shifted.

The Games could not claim another Adler. It wouldn’t. Not on Willow’s watch. While she desperately wanted to give up and accept her fate, she couldn’t allow herself to fall into such a desolate way of thinking. Willow could not quit so easily. Allowing the Capitol to break her spirit before she even tried was a shameful thing to do. Her eyes dried up, only the hint of emotion still lingering.

“You’re Willow…” Gareth began softly as he looked up on the way to the train. Willow offered the boy a small smile. He reminded her of Creek, young and gentle and too good to be gone so soon. “That’s me,” She nodded before gesturing his way. “And you’re Gareth, right? Our dad’s work together in the South Forests. I’m sure you and my brother would get along well.”

“Creek?” Gareth asked, a softened expression replacing the one of tearful eyes and terrified looks. “That’s the one. Listen here Gareth, you stick with me. We’re in this together…” Gareth reached up and took Willow’s hand. The action made her heart ache for the boy. This wasn’t fair. It never would be. At least Willow had experienced life. Gareth, though a few years younger, still had so much to do. Being cut short for a sin they didn’t commit felt so beyond cruel.

The train was sleek. It wasn’t an unfamiliar image in District 7 but Willow didn’t know what to expect of the inside. Overly lavish, probably. Indulgent. Cold. Nothing about it seemed pleasant, but Willow kept a brave and happy face for Gareth. He didn’t need anyone else casting gloom and doom over him. The crowd's reaction to his selection was enough to cement his fate in the Games. The Capitol ate that stuff up though. Gone too soon. Poor boy. It made her sick.

Some from District 7 waited at the train station to see the two tributes off. Willow felt the somber mood cling to the air. It felt suffocating. Rather than wade around in it, she quickened her pace and tightened her grip on Gareth’s hand. The door to the train opened with a hiss of pressure and the Peacekeeper gestured for them to enter. Allowing the boy to board first, Willow followed closely behind and the door pressed closed behind them, sealing them in until they arrived at the Capitol.

“Sweets!” Cheered Gareth, quickly running to the trolley filled with candies, cookies, and cakes. Anything a kid like him would ever want filled the top with trays and napkins. He could grab whatever he wanted and make out like a bandit. Willow chose to stay away, instead walking further into the cart, craning her head around as she observed the fine fabrics and woods used inside. Over indulgent. The train jilted forward but Willow hardly noticed, only realizing it when the outside trees began to pass by. She approached one of the windows, watching as the familiar redwoods of District 7 began to turn into green blurs. Willow didn’t pray, but she prayed she would return to those forests…

 

[darkersun]

rowan eichel

district 7

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protective

train

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underdogs shall rise

The train was an unwelcome experience, one both Rowan and Aema knew all too well from previous experiences. Last year, the tributes were terrified out of their minds, sobbing together until Aema levelled them with an honest explanation of tears, scaring them both into submission. During his own experience, Rowan himself was in a state of shock, mindlessly staring out the window and refusing to speak, while his district partner disappeared to her bedroom immediately and did not come out. These two tributes though - they surprised him. From Gareth's youthful excitement as the chocolates and desserts distracted him to Willow's seemingly calm demeanor, it took Rowan off guard.

It only took a glance, but Aema and Rowan stood together as if on command, readying themselves for awkward introductions. "I'll take the boy first." Rowan uttered, unsurprised by Aema's judgmental eyebrow as she simply turned and walked towards the girl near the window. Aema and Rowan didn't often exchange words, but embarrassingly enough, she was likely his closest friend. Not much competition in that department, but Aema's lack of dramatics compared to most others calmed and soothed him. Rowan .... felt suffocated, by loud noises nowadays.

Gareth was loading up on sugar in the dessert car, a four chocolates balancing precariously in his hands. He didn't notice Rowan's precense at first, but with a quite cough, Gareth spun around, almost dropping the desserts in the process.

"Hello, you're Gareth, correct?" Rowan said, calm and collected as a cucumber as his heart pounded faster and faster. The boy was so young. "I'm Rowan. Do you know what my role is as your mentor?

The boy looked up, eyes widening as he identified Rowan, quite obviously putting his face with memories. Each child in the district watched the games, but that didn't make it hurt any less when he clutched the chocolate closer to his chest and fear grew in Gareth's expression. These kids...they didn't deserve to be here. Gareth himself should be at home, climbing trees or doing whatever normal teens do - not preparing to fight to the death.

"...You get me sponsors. " The boy responded, looking up with wide eyes. As a response, Rowan smiled, ducking his head and curling his shoulders forward as an attempt to seem smaller, less threatening. An ally, not an enemy.

" Correct. We'll talk more at dinner with Willow, but think on it - the way that you want to present yourself to the Capital."

In truth- there was only one way Gareth could be presented - as a scared teen brought into the games far too young, but Rowan wasn't going to be the one to explain. Gareth didn't seem like an idiot, and this was a tiny test, one to let Rowan know how much the male tribute really understood his situation. Innocence, after all, could be a strong driving point straight into possible sponsors' empathy. And empathy, in Rowan's incredibly limited experience, had always held a strong link to money being received.

Gareth seemed to accept the task, nodding once before turning back around to the desserts. And just on time, it seemed, as Aema had appeared at the doorway, done with her chat with Willow. With another look, they exchanged roles.

Willow herself was farther away from the dessert train, and up close, Rowan could see the silent strength radiating, just as Ferric and Cedar had previously explained. She appeared...almost plain, at first glance, but there was something underneath, something stubborn and willful that could be brought out.

"Your brothers told me good things about you." Rowan uttered, deciding to start the conversation with a compliment, then switching to an introduction that was likely unneeded, "I'm Rowan."

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

[/

 

[sollie]

willow adler

district 7

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timorous

Train to the Capitol

[/tab]

the face of my enemy is the face of my ally

The blurs of green were hard to keep up with in the speeding train, but there was comfort in the familiar blurs. Before long, the blurs disappeared, the train entering a tunnel as they exited District 7. It was the only thing that forced her to tear away. Part of her didn’t want to look at the Capitol train any longer. All of it reminded her of the fate awaiting her as soon as they reached the city. But avoiding her fears wouldn’t help her. Straightening up, the image of the escort and their mentor came into her vision and Willow automatically tensed. The woman that stole her brother's life with a simple selection. Willow didn’t hate many people but she most certainly hated Aema Flitzerwade.

Her expression didn’t change, eyes trained on Aema’s form, sharply watching her every move as if anything out of place would indicate another ill fated action from the woman. Willow could tell the escort was sizing her up, looking her up and down, judging every fiber out of her being. Parts of her wondered what the woman thought about her. Whether or not she found Willow worthy of her time and her effort. If Aema was disappointed that she ended up on the train and not some other poor girl from District 7. They were silly worries, ones Willow rarely had, but they still found their way into her mind.

Aema offered a hand out, one to be shaken, but she rejected it without a word, harsh eyes meeting with Aema’s calm ones. “Aema Flitzerwade. It’s a pleasure making your acquaintance.” A tight, small smile managed onto her lips. It did not comfort Willow, in fact, it made her want to find any way of the train she could. “Alright.” She managed, finally ripping her eyes away. The train emerged from the tunnel moments ago, giving Willow something to look at besides the interior of the carriage.

“Alright will not do, Willow Adler. Your impertinent attitude isn’t the way to make friends in the Capitol, I am sure you know that. I will do my best to acclimate you to living in the wonderful, albeit temporary, luxury of the Capitol. But you must understand the spoils of the Capitol cannot be enjoyed by someone with such a sour disposition. Do your best to lighten up dear. At least before dinner.” Giving a curt nod, Aema turned sharply on her heel, brushing past Rowan and Gareth to exit somewhere inside the endless maze of rooms and sweets and ‘luxury’ the Capitol offered them.

Willow longed for nothing more than silence and solitude, something she could bring herself had she been back home, in the safety of her family, the forest, and District 7. Instead, being forced to listen to lectures from pompous idiots that couldn’t fathom how horrible she felt. If she felt like this, she couldn’t imagine how Gareth felt.

Rowan surprised her, a voice she never expected to hear in person. As many others in District 7 had, Willow watched through his interviews, his Games, and ultimately his victory, watching as he swiftly fell into the hands of the immoral Capitolites, taking their gifts, money, and becoming a pet, rather than a Victor. Of course, that might not have been true. Rowan was, after all, from District 7. He did what he needed to survive in the Games… But to humor the practice and mentor those new tributes? It felt like he was falling victim to the trap of… whatever the Capitol was playing.

“When did you speak to my brothers?” Willow asked sharply, clearly upset that Rowan brought up her brothers. They broke her heart when they left her alone after her reaping, to sit and cry and console herself. Did they not have the bravery to show their face and act strong for her, just as they did Hadley? And how dare Rowan Eichel bring them up? He knew how hard it was for anyone to leave their family behind for the Games… For death. “I know who you are, Rowan Eichel.”

Willow felt so unlike herself. Cold. Skittish. Mean, almost. The change in demeanor wasn’t welcomed, it felt confusing and wrong. But it was the only thing protecting her from the unfamiliarity and unknown that waited for her in this process. “Don’t patronize me like you did Gareth. I am not a child like he is. You don’t need to remind me of how tough or scary or daunting it is. I know it is. I know what.. What he went through. I know I’m going to die.”

 

[darkersun]

rowan eichel

district 7

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disoriented

train

[/tab]

assumptions thrive in silence

To say Rowan felt uneven would be an understatement. People didn't speak to him that way anymore, in a vicious tones, unless they were President Snow himself, issuing vague threats that Rowan understood too well. Most simply tiptoed around, silencing concerns and excluding terror, obviously wishing they could avoid any situation looking a victor in the eye. He wished anger would rise up, righteous and strong towards being attacked before anything occurred, but the only thing he felt was excitement. Willow was alive, alive in a way that previous tributes never were, and that nastiness could manifest itself in the arena, where it was a necessity for survival.

Swallowing the emotions down, Rowan felt his eyebrows quirk up. Obviously, he'd mis-stepped, somewhere in the few sentences spoken, but there was no desire in him to start a fight. Not yet. In all honesty, he'd assumed that the rest of the family would visit Willow, comforting the girl through terror, but he'd apparently thought wrong. A misstep, but one that could decide the rest of their relationship if he tripped completely. A forked paths appeared in Rowan's mind, showing two roads, one truthful and one a lie.

And well, Rowan was already morally damned.

"Your brothers and I - we've met previously. Back before this all." Rowan said, waving his hands around demonstratively. Not technically a lie quite yet, but quickly approaching, not unlike the train they themselves were on.

The next words, however, struck far deeper than Willow knew. And that was because Rowan knew. He knew how it felt, feeling so utterly alone on a large, cold train while everything known gets farther and farther away, so utterly convinced that the cold palm of death would cover you in days. The feeling had dimmed, in the amount of times he'd spent in the moving prison within the past few years, but faced with it so directly, Rowan remembered. But Willow had one thing Rowan hadn't - a mentor who would try.

"You know me? Good. Then you should know that I am not intending on letting you die. You try, in whatever arena they throw you in, and I try on the outside. I am literally one of the two people who you can trust right now - don't go breaking relationships before you foster them."

The words were condescending, Rowan knew, but it was the best he could do, matching the energy provided without appearing neither weak-willed nor stupid. He had no desire to stay where he was unwelcome, especially in high-strung situations such as the one they found themselves in, so he quickly added, "However, I can leave, if you so wish. Just be ready for dinner."

Rowan didn't move to leave immediately, waiting for the words to exit Willow's mouth. If she was angry, truly angry, he could verbally fight back, letting her wear out her energy before entering the Capitol. There, Rowan thought internally, she would find those much, much worse than him.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[sollie]

willow adler

district 7

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circumspect

Train to the Capitol

[/tab]

I'll trust you as far as I can throw you.

Ah. So Rowan knew her brothers through work, somehow. Many were familiar with the Adler family, some way or the other. Afterall, while they weren’t in the spotlight, Hadley wore his family pride on his shoulder, sharing his adoration and love for them anytime he got while in interviews. What are you fighting for? My family. Is there someone waiting for you back home? My family. But that resilience and devotion didn’t win any games for the boy. And now… Willow knew the only thing she could fight for was herself and for him. If her mother and father and brothers didn’t want to wish her well, it meant they refused to experience the grief of losing another child. She highly doubted they were going to watch her being slaughtered in the town square as they had him.

It made sense that Rowan previously worked in the forests. His axework in the Games felt indicative of the skills of many from District 7, especially lumberjack or carpenters. The tool, or in how case weapon, took take and patience to learn, Willow knew that from personal experience. It was heavy, weighted on the front with a light wooden handle. One needed strength to wield a tool like an axe and good instincts to react and use accordingly. But death by an axe was the most brutal of ends. The only thing it cut through cleanly would be wood… Human skin and bone faced a not so pleasant hacking.

Though Willow didn’t respond to him, he held her full attention, eyes unwavering from his. Her brazennesss was not characteristic of who she was. Something fueled the fire and anger inside of her, and it just so happened Rowan was on the receiving end of that rage. Sooner or later, Willow would accept her fate and mellow out. Or– she would lash out again. Time would tell. For the moment, Willow didn’t seem to be returning to her normal self anytime soon.

Rowan’s supercilious words didn’t shift Willow’s attitude towards him. The girl wanted to say a hundred different things to stab back at him, but holding her tongue seemed like the best option. Giving away her emotional vulnerabilites so easily showed weakness and it meant she wouldn’t fare well around others. Though normally so level-headed and calm, Willow’s emotions, particularly anger and upset, came out on a dime. ‘Hadley trusted his mentors and he still died.’ The words stayed on the tip of her tongue but never left.

Sucking in a deep, shaky breath, Willow turned from Rowan, far more interested in the intricate wallpaper than she was entertaining a fight with him. “You can leave then.” She grumbled, back facing him and hands tracing the wood work around the window sill. Finding comfort in the flow of the grain and the smoothness of the finish allowed her a second to breath. Glancing from the corner of her eyes, Willow spoke one last time. “Go.”

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[darkersun]

rowan eichel

district 7

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accepting

train

[/tab]

to move forward is the only option

Rowan released a single nod, instantly moving away from Willow and back to the multitudes of other train carts. He'd expected the answer of course, but her reply told him more about her than she'd ever expected. Last year, his tributes instantly viewed themselves as enemies, refusing to sit, speak, or work in any way with each other. In just a quick, thirty second situation, not only did Rowan discover that Willow had the anger to fight, but also that she was willing to work together with Gareth, showing a possible protective streak, and thus, an angle with sponsors.

He was almost content, walking away, despite the circumstances. The overall silence of the train, rarely interrupted by Gareth's chewing, made for good decompression, allowing Rowan to breathe for the first time. Aema had disappeared, likely to her own room in the train, leaving the victor by himself. It was almost an odd feeling, not being surrounded by his design team or Capital citizens. It felt odder still to drop his mask. Even in District 7, Rowan wasn't allowed to rest, always reminded of cameras or Oren needing him, needing him to stay strong and appear powerful. For at least the next couple hours, there was nobody to perform for.

Rowan eventually found himself in his own room on the train, luxurious and yet, still cold and distant. The bed, soft and plush, and yet, so unfamiliar. All so perfect, and yet, due to that very reason, unnerving. Nevertheless, Rowan found himself closing his eyes, suddenly exhausted, and the next thing he knew, a singular knock was waking him from his nap.

"Dinner." Aema's familiar voice announced. From experience, if Aema was knocking, it meant that she wouldn't ask again, and Rowan found himself groaning as he rose out of bed and into the train. District 7's location near the Capitol, and the tributes would arrive an hour after dinner ended, making the meal the last before the luxury of the Capitol surrounded them all. Which also meant the time to truly discuss strategy.

Rowan wasn't late, thankfully, as he walked into dining cart, if the full plates on the table had anything to say. Gareth was already seated, somehow still having room in his stomach for more food, and Rowan smirked as he sat across from the young teen. Less chances of getting chastised, Rowan internally joked.

" Try the soup - I've personally found it my favorite" Rowan said after a few seconds, breaking the ice. Aema's normally frigid face broke into a small smile, likely remembering the first train ride, when Rowan had gorged on the dish, throwing it all up later. In truth, the meal was one of the first in which the then-tribute had access to as much food as he wanted, but Aema found the situation funny, and Rowan was all-too ready to try anything to make the dinner as welcoming as possible - all-considering. Somehow, Rowan didn't fully believe that would work, but Gareth smiled anyway, pouring a bit more onto his plate. Another reminder that this kid was far too young in Rowan's mind - another reminder that Gareth should've never been here.

© weldherwings.

[/

 

[sollie]

willow adler

district 7

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changing

train to the capitol

[/tab]

no one thinks they're awful, not even people who really actually are.

Alone again. Silence was one of Willow’s only friend, although as the hum of the train filled her ears, she knew the world never truly silenced. Out in the forest, as impossibly quiet as it may seem, the amibance of the forest made for a comforting aura of birds songs, leaves dancing in the wind, and creatures skittering about on the trees and forest floor. Here, mechanical creaks and hums replaced any sort of natural melody. It perturbed Willow and made her dread for the cacophony of urban sounds.

She sat in the room she and Gareth entered initially for a long while, finding a seat across from a window and starting out, watching as quick images of rural lands, different districts, and environments passed by. Though they were blurs, Willow stayed mezmorized by the landscapes. District 7 was her home, all she knew, and venturing out, even given the terrible circumstances, managed to ease her cagey nature, at least temporarily. Sitting with knees pressed to her chest, eyes glazed over, she watched, not even noticing the hours passing by. When the sun disappeared behind the tree line, Willow halfly emerged from her state, rubbing her eyes.

Warm light from sconces on the wall illuminated the cabin of the train, automatically lighting as the dim evening came upon Panem. Her body felt stiff from sitting still for so long, arms stretching high above her head. The plush cushions of the seat, at least, were far softer than anything back in District 7. Would her family receive comforts like this Hadley won the Games? If she won the Games?

Shaking her head, Willow found herself looking for a door. Rowan told her to be ready for dinner– but she wasn’t quite sure what ready entailed. She still wore the dress from Reaping, still wrinkled from her hands clutching the fabric into balls. It was beautiful, made by hand from her mother, but it felt greatly inadequate in comparison to the opulence that would be the Capitol. Still, Willow did what she could to flatten out some of the wrinkles as she traveled from cabin to cabin, searching for wherever dinner would be held.

Sooner or later, and inappropriately late, Willow finally stumbled upon the cart full of people. Stopping in the doorway, Willow swallowed, shifting uncomfortable. Suddenly not as fiery as before, she swallowed looking from Aema to Rowan to Gareth as if she did something wrong. Although, in Aema’s eyes, she felt certain being late was a sin. With the door sliding shut automatically and slightly startling her, she turned with quick, wide eyes on the door. When she realized it was just the door, embarrassment flooded her body. God, could she mess this up anymore?

Taking a step forward, she sat in the open seat beside Gareth, the two tributes facing their Capitol counterparts. “Sorry I’m late.” Willow murmured, sitting rigid in the chair, glancing at the food in front of her. It was a lot. More than she ever could’ve fathomed being for one dinner. The spread on the table would feed her entire family for two days, if they rationed it properly. Even just the plate that sat in front of her. While her family sat at home starving, she would enjoy the biggest meal she’d ever had. “Your tardiness is not excuse, Miss. Adler.” Aema said with a tight lipped frown. “I’ve told you once this behavior is unexeptable. If you can’t make it to dinner on time, how do you expect to fair in the Capitol? Things must be done a certain way, Miss. Adler. And you have greatly disrespected that order twice now.”

Ah, Aema being pleasant again. “I said I was sorry.” Willow’s shoulders were tense, anyone at the table could see that, but she seemed much more relaxed than early. Who knew how long it would remain, but for now, Willow could manage Aema’s unbearable personality. Silently picking up a fork, she stabbed whatever green was on the table popping it into her mouth. Heavenly. One bite turned into several and before long, Willow was getting her fill of the rich foods.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[darkersun]

rowan eichel

district 7

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accepting

train

[/tab]

to strategize is to survive

Dinner, as expected, was quickly going downhill. Rowan truly didn't care about a bit of tardiness, especially given the day that the tributes had, but of course Aema did. Aema, who had no knowledge of the stress. Aema, who grew up in privilege. Aema, who although silently stood watch as Rowan suffered from night terrors, was also celebrating and partying as the games themselves took place.

The group devolved into silence as Aema's words sunk in - even Gareth had curled into himself as Rowan shot Aema a warning glare that he kew full well the woman ignored. Of course, at least some of the impact could've been due to the gluttony of the food, the pure amount that Rowan knew felt cruel to enjoy. He allowed the silence to go on for a bit more, but eventually, the necessity for conversation outweighed keeping the peace.

" The Reapings from all districts are going to be televised in just a few moments for Capital citizens." Rowan stated, almost casually, "Watch them carefully - this is the one time you see these tributes without a strategy in play."

Rowan himself knew these words were more for himself than the tributes. Any sharp tribute would be paying attention anyways, and Rowan himself wasn't paying attention his first year, too busy convincing himself of his utter demise. A hard thing to talk a tribute out of, but Rowan would do almost anything to stop his tributes from wasting the time like he had, even if it meant starting a fight, in Willow's case.

Aema took control from there, pressing a button on the underside of the table that brought a screen rising from a nearby desk, and Rowan watched as the screen blazed colors. They'd missed the introduction and national anthem in their lateness, and although Rowan could see Aema's displeasure, seeing the District 1 tributes brought him completely into the mentor headspace.

Although for a moment, Rowan was sent back in time to a similar day, he forced himself forward, forced his brain to pay attention as he put his food utensils down. Last year, it was District 1 that ended his male tribute's life, and this year, the competition looked just as threatening. Both were in their late teens, and with the female tribute a volunteer, something told the victor that these two were deadly. At least, of course, until the male tribute got on stage, and the female one leaned away.

" They hate each other." Rowan declared immediately, watching as more and more of the tributes' body language began to fold to his comment, " The careers are going to be messy this year."

District 2 was similar - visually threatening but small movements had Rowan uttering about their obvious preferences towards using their right side. And on and on through the entire screening did Rowan speak, dropping small pieces of advice towards each tribute, from District 5's female tribute's obvious experience with blunt weapons to being wary of District 8's older boy.

Throughout the entire process, Rowan himself made careful point to not learn any of the other tributes' names. It was too humanizing, too personable, and after making the mistake last year, he learned it was much too easy to be distracted if one accidentally found themselves partial to another district's tribute.

Simply put, District 7's tributes, Rowan had managed to convince himself, were the only ones that deserved to go home, and therefore, the only ones to deserve his attention.

© weldherwings.

[/

 

[sollie]

willow adler

district 7

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Determined

Dining Cabin

[/tab]

my hearts ablaze when my mind is settled

Feeling a bit sick from consuming so much, Willow sat back, placing her fork and knife atop the plate of half eaten food. How did people from the Capitol eat like this? Was it ever day that they feasted on fine food in such plenty? While starving felt horrible, it seemed overeating would be something to stay away from. Resting against the chair, Willow relaxed, even after Aema’s sour comments. She would need to adjust to the unsavor personality of her escort if she wished to get anywhere in the Capitol without Aema’s scoff and downturned stare of judgement. Adapting could be possible. Willow simply needed to want to adapt. But maybe, just maybe… Willow didn’t want to please Aema for the sake of herself.

Regardless, she didn’t need to linger on Aema any more, as it seemed it was time to watch the other tributes from each District be selected by their respective Capitol escort. Rowan’s comment made Willow frown, eyebrows pinching together ever so slightly and lips tugging downward. “We’re watching peoples lives be ruined.” Willow stated, giving a hard look at Rowan, as if to remind him that they were scared kids just like she and Gareth were. Just like he had been. It was likely unwise to empathize with their fellow tributes as in five short days, she would be forced into an arena and encouraged to kill them for her survival. But Willow couldn’t turn that part of her brain off and simply forget the humanity in all of this. It’s what made it so horrifingly cruel.

Still, despite her unwillingness to watch as a competitor, Willow’s eyes stayed trained on the screen, taking in each tribute from the Districts. Trying to tune out Rowan’s commentary and make her own judgements on the boys and girls thats scenes unrolled in front of them, it was rather difficult considering their mentors chatty nature. He talked a lot. And his talking didn’t exactly mean anything to Willow. Seemingly shallow observations based on a few moments curated by the Capitol for the Capitol. It was arrogance and lack of intelligence that made judgements so quickly. What Willow saw was a group of teenagers that varied in personality, skill set, and ability to perform– not just in the arena, but on a stage. The graceful and strong nature of the careers. The impact and impressions they made. Even some of the outer districts were coming to bat.

None of it gave her the insight she wanted, besides probably District 1’s unseemingly pair. At least, for once, the District 1 careers might not be the first ones to slaughter everyone and everything in their sight. As the presentation of Reapings came to an end, Willow felt her chest build with something. Not dread, that had washed over her like an sudden thunderstorm on a summers night. Not fear, for that useless emotion would likely only make her seem useless and expendable in the eyes of the Capitol. Not even hope, which was lost years ago when Hadley died in the Games. But what filled Willow’s chest was a determination so fierce only a knife to the chest could end it. She wasn’t a killer, she could hardly kill a fly without feeling deep remorse. But for the sake of her fallen brother and for the sake of herself, Willow Adler was going to escape the Hunger Games.

Eventually, District 7’s Reaping came up and though Willow didn’t look away, she felt her stomach turn as cameras panned across the audience. That was the last time she saw her brothers, looking down, either out of shame, upset, or a mix of a million other different emotions. She needed to win so she could curse them out whenever she got back home– Although, if she won, she had a feeling her upset with them would’ve dissipated by that point by tenfold. Finally, the commentators made their final comments, reminding everyone to tune back in for another recap and the opening ceremony, of which they would be at sooner rather than later, stripped down to the silliest parts of their districts and turned into costumes.

“The tributes look rather adaquate this year,” Aema said, removing the napkin from her napkin and placing it neatly on the table. “But I always have a preference to District 7. You lot always seem so near and dear to the Capitol, and it won’t be any different this year.” Gesturing to Rowan, she nodded. “You see how adored our Victor is? That adoration comes from his diligence. You two must remember that. And avoid being late and discourteous during your stay.” Aema looked at the time and then out the windows, though how she could tell where they were would be a mystery to Willow. “We will arrive in the Capitol in a few hours. Feel free to explore, treat yourself to anything in the cabins. This isn’t even the tip of the iceberg for your wonderfully trip to the Capitol. Just you two wait. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

“Oh, wait! Miss. Aema. Would it be alright if I laid down somewhere? I'm a bit sleepy...” Gareth asked, rising to catch her before she left. “Well… Of course… The two of you both have private rooms. Although, the apartments in the Captiol are far better. You may follow me…” Both exited to the right, leaving Rowan and Willow in the silent room.

For a good while Willow sat wordlessly, not looking at him but out the window. Partially because she was trying to settle her stomach, and partially because they’d gotten off on the wrong foot. After a moment, she opened her mouth to speak. “My brothers..” She began, shifting in her seat but not taking her eyes off the window. “What did they say about me? When you worked with them?”

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[darkersun]

rowan eichel

district 7

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focused

train

[/tab]

without a plan, there is only failure

There was something calming within the deep focus, within the lack of emotion or memories flooding through Rowan's body. He often feels that he exists in limbo, within death and life or victory and failure, but within the concentration, he can almost feel...dynamic. Thousands of possible strategies ran through his head simultaneously, mixing and matching what any good mentor would command towards every memorable tribute, and then what he could offer his own as a result.

It was within this headspace that Aema spoke, and although the sound of her words flowed over his head in waves, hearing his own name was what brought Rowan right back to reality, like a drowning survivor taking a full breath of air. She didn't get it. As friendly as they were, Aema would never get it. The woman would always, even if she hugged him with sympathy, view the Games with some sort of pride, not with the terror that the rest of them did. He wasn't adored, Rowan wanted to scream toward the escort, he was exploited. They didn't view him as a human at those shiny events, but a toy, a figurine to parade around and perform.

Those thoughts didn't escape his mouth, of course, all too aware of the amount of cameras and technology imbedded in these train cars, and instead, Rowan pasted on a small smile of gratitude. Not for the words themselves, but for the reminder that Capitol citizens, at their core, were always Capitol citizens.

Instead, Rowan adjusted quietly, out of the deep focus and back into the real world, watching as Gareth and Aema left the room. He felt off-kilter with Willow, since the few hours ago that he'd lied through omission. There was no regret toward that action, but instead an acceptance. If Willow would ever find out, it'd mean that she survived, and therefore her anger would be an reasonable price for Rowan to pay. In the meantime, she would be calmer, possibly more understanding than if she knew that two of her brothers had met with him instead of comforting the tribute.

When Willow spoke, Rowan calmly lifted his chin to look at her, unsurprised by the choice in conversation, and not at all concerned by her lack of eye contact. Instead, he rummaged through his thoughts, digging small pieces of her brothers' earlier comments, and twisting them easily into a fitting lie that would fit the tone - a skill that emerged through dozens of conversations at galas and interviews on the Capitol stage.

"That you're sharp. You catch onto things quickly, and feel as safe in the trees as most do on the ground. That you've been trained with a rope, and I'd be unsurprised if you were trained with an axe in the years that have passed." Rowan announced, both to qualm the girl's obvious rising fears and as a attempt at comfort, before continuing, "I meant what I said earlier, you know. I don't intend to let you die, and as long as you work with me here, I do believe in your ability to survive."

His words were true, as true as anything could be coming from a lie, and Rowan watched to capture Willow's response. He knew her weaknesses already, all confirmed by the girl's older brothers, but it was a completely different story that Willow would share those with him. She didn't know that he was truly on her side, miles better than Cyprus and her lack of aim, but Rowan wished and truly hoped that Willow would take a leap of faith. It would be easier to work on her social skills and interview prep, after all, if he could be direct.

© weldherwings.

[/

 

[sollie]

willow adler

district 7

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independent

dining cabin

[/tab]

I will hold myself when the time comes

Although he’d answered her question, his tone didn’t exactly make her happy. Though a young victor, Willow was certain Rowan lived a life of luxury, thanks to his efforts in the Games. She didn’t discount him on that. But it seemed his Capitol-style life had made him deaf to the resilience and mind of those hailing from District 7, just as he had. Willow didn’t want to work with him or anyone in the Capitol for a matter. The only person she remotely would consider helping out was Gareth, and that’s only due to his similarities with her younger brother.

Most of her brothers praise was correct. She was quick and she much preferred the trees to the ground. But if the Gamemakers threw her into an area that didn’t have that, she didn’t think she’d make it far. They’d seen arenas in the past that were complete wastelands, barren of any green. Willow shuddered to think of her fate in an arena like that. “I’m okay with an axe,” She corrected quickly, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “Not good. Just okay.” It was simple and perhaps it was undercrediting herself, but she felt it was honest.

Another moment of silence past and Willow contemplated her words very carefully. Her mind was much more clear than it had been at their first interaction, but it didn’t mean she trusted him anymore. Still… Offending Rowan, making him hate her… It meant her chances at sponsors went down. In fact, it might actually be a detriment if Rowan knew people in high places and he got a vendetta against her. Not that Willow thought he was the kind of person to enact revenge on those he didn’t like… but she didn’t know Rowan. Not at all. Only what the Capitol curated and broadcasted to the Districts.

“The Games aren’t about working together.” Willow stated, looking at Rowan with an intense gaze. “You can’t help me once I’m inside that arena, it doesn’t matter how many sponsors I can get, or how much the Capitol just adores me. The only person I can trust to help me in that arena is myself. So please… Don’t consider it working together. You’re only helping me before I’m all alone in that arena. Hadley’s mentor didn’t help him. Sponsors didn’t help him. If their job is to help?” She laughed, shaking her head. “They failed. And I don’t really want to fail, Rowan Eichel.”

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[darkersun]

rowan eichel

district 7

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annoyed

dining cart

[/tab]

do not loop me in with the masses

Rowan gave a stiff nod to Willow's mention of axes. To be considered "okay" in District 7 was to be significantly better than any other district's tribute. Though he knew that Willow was competent through the previous conversation with her brothers, it calmed him somewhat, knowing that she could admit her skill. And the female tribute needed it, given her smaller stature now compared to the significantly larger tributes they both knew were entering the same arena.

It would also give them something to work on during private sessions. Gareth would be too novice with the weapon for it to be any use, but Willow's experience meant Rowan could assist, possibly teaching valuable tricks to turn the tool into a true weapon throughout the games. The last year, the District 7 tributes refused to learn to kill, and their morality ended with quick deaths. Rowan knew it was no use to attempt to explain, but The Hunger Games didn't allow for kindness. It was something each tribute would individually identify, but for Willow's sake, he hoped her righteousness would end sooner rather than later.

It was that very same point that sent Rowan spiraling close to anger at her next words. Not true anger - not enough to cause him to fight, but instead, a deep frustration. "You critically misunderstand the Games." He bit back, tone carefully light but with a hard edge peeking through, "Sure, the first night, you're alone, but there's a reason each victor has had sponsor assistance, Willow. No tribute with any chance of winning is completely on their own, and if you choose to act in front of the crowds like you've acted with Aema, then you will fail. "

Harsh, but Rowan firmly believed this was for the betterment of them all. Aema was more patient than many possible sponsors and she'd recover, but the naive Capitolites who viewed the tributes as toys would not. Willow would be blacklisted if she ever spat in their direction, not tall or sullen-looking enough to pull off an aggressive persona, and Rowan would have no chance of changing their minds.

But, no matter the annoyance flooding through his system, Rowan could see how Willow's mind came to conclusions. Hadley indeed had been alone - so had Rowan, right up until the final ten. Cyprus was a horrid mentor, too jaded and ancient to try, and although Rowan was giving mentoring an attempt, there was nothing yet to show for his work.

"There's a reason I am mentoring you, and not Cyprus. " Rowan argued, dropping all pretense of the conversation not testing his limits, "But if you so badly want to pretend that we aren't working together - fine. But we will be doing private training and preparations, and you will, at the least, pretend to listen to my advice before ignoring it."

© weldherwings.

[/

 

[sollie]

willow adler

district 7

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exhausted

sleeping quarters

[/tab]

I cannot find composure in such chaos.

“I’m not an idiot,” Willow snapped quickly, rearing up like an animal backed into a corner. Her body language said the same, revealing all her inner thoughts. It wasn’t often she was so open with her emotions, even the nasty ones. But in the short few hours she’d been with Rowan, it seemed the other had a great gift at pulling out the worst in her. “You think I’d be such a fool as to scorn the people that put us here? That give us gifts and medicine and fire? Just like you, I watched each Games. I watched as my brother charmed his way into the hearts of Panem,” She quoted Ceasar Flickerman, imitating his voice with malice laced up and down in it. “How you charmed your way into the hearts of Panem.” Willow took a step forward. Her arms now firmly placed at her sides with fists clenched into tight balls.

“Just like you, Hadley had no one. Cyprus forced him to fend for himself. Forced him to figure out what the hell was happening in the Capitol. Forced him to smile in front of those audiences and put on an act. I saw what he had to do.” Willow took a step back, realizing she was letting her anger get the best of her. Her temper was one of her greatest weaknesses. Things got under her skin like a sharp thorn, slowly wiggling their way deeper and deeper until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Letting out a shaky breath, it was clear the girl was attempting to compose herself.

“We’re not working together.” She stated firmly, clearly not changing her stance. Her tone had shiftered, however. “But you seem be able to appeal to those in the Capitol quite well–” Willow wavered, unsure of exactly what she wanted to come next. “Just–” She seethed, unable to find the words she wanted. “Forget it. I’m going to my room…” With eyebrows furrowed, Willow shook her head, brushing past Rowan and bumping shoulders. She followed after where Aema and Gareth left, wanting nothing more than to escape the confines of the suddenly small space. For godsake… What was wrong with her? She hated talking to people. She hated getting angry. And what she hated most was having to deal with all of this right here and right now…

As Willow rushed through the cabins, looking for any indiction of her room, she collided with Aema, who looked frightened by their forceful meeting. “My room..?” Willow murmured quietly, keeping her head down. Aema furrowed her brows, but pointed. “In the next cabin, to the right.” The escort said simply. Willow didn’t linger for small talk, opting instead to keep moving. When she found the room, she closed herself in with a deep breath, back pressed against the wall. Everywhere felt too small. But the room was dark and the bed looked plush and soft, better than anything she’d slept on in her life.

Hesitantly, she crept forward one foot at a time, running her hand across the bed. The comforter was soft and thick. Willow imagined it would be good for the winter months in District 7. Peeling back the covers, she didn’t care to remove her clothing, the dress she’d worn to the Reaping. Instead, she kicked her shoes off and climbed into the bed, melting into the silky fabric with a groan. Curling in on herself, she wrapped her arms around her body, attempting anything to give her an ounce of comfort… But it didn’t come. Instead, all she could think off was her family, her brothers, and how she wished to be back in District 7. Battling the tears that stung her eyes, eventually Willow let go and began silently weeping. It didn’t last long, for the girls as eventually lulled to a slumber…

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[darkersun]

rowan eichel

district 7

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exhasperated

dining cart

[/tab]

pretend like your life depends on it

" I cannot tell whether Willow will be beloved or hated." Aema uttered, walking into the dining cart with an annoyed glance backwards. Rowan let out a small laugh - looks like the female tribute's mood did not end with the conversation they'd just had. When she'd first stalked off, the mentor had thrown his hands up, looking to some invisible audience in disbelief, but in the seconds that'd passed, Rowan had taken a seat once again, attempting to look at the positives of the situation.

For one, Willow agreed to play along - maybe. At the time, Rowan wanted to argue that Cyprus hadn't made them do anything - that Hadley and himself had likely just come to reasonable conclusions together, but it was better that he hadn't. Willow had seen how winning over the audience worked, and from memory of Hadley's year, from two different strategies, and that was what he found most important.

Aema, meanwhile, had taken a seat next to him, looking as exhausted as the two tributes. She would have a busy few days as well, Rowan reminded himself, flittering and fluttering around possible sponsors and driving them towards him. It was almost hilarious - both the District 7 escort and mentor were new, Aema herself starting her duty during Rowan's year.

"They'll like her." Rowan decided, shrugging his shoulders as he leaned back to meet the escorts eyes, "It's Gareth I'm torn on."

Willow had...spunk, but in the time that they'd spent with the younger tribute, he'd shown none of that, instead displaying a innocence that Rowan knew would be lost. He had to separate emotionally from the boy, separate himself from the visions of Oren that appeared before his eyes whenever he looked in Gareth's direction. Capitol citizens were already iffy with younger competitors, and Gareth's lack of strength or humor would only do him more harm once they are exposed. On the other hand, that youthfulness could play a factor into the opposition, with an adoration that only underdogs exude driving optimistic donations.

Aema looked towards him, considering with that cold gaze of hers. "I can make them adore him." She answered back, "Keep Willow from ruining both of their chances, and I'll work on Gareth."

Rowan wanted to argue for Willow, argue for the high-stress environment she had been thrust into without warning, but Aema had already turned from him, ending the conversation with their designated workloads assigned. Of course.

They stayed that way, silent in the same compartment for quite a while, both lost in thought before Aema perked up suddenly, uncanny skill in navigation activated. "We're in the final stretch. Grab the tributes - Willow's in her bedroom."

And there it was. Rowan took a calming breath for himself before getting up, walking briskly through the train with Aema hot on his heels. Her previous exhaustion was nowhere to be found as she overtook him, obviously choosing Gareth to wake and alert to the following activity.

Great. Hopefully, Willow's attitude would be diminished with some sleep, Rowan thought to himself as he stood outside her closed door. His own body language was languid, a forced calm as he came to terms with the next weeks, but his knock was sharp and loud.

"We're getting close." Rowan alerted through the door, waiting a couple seconds for Willow to hopefully wake before continuing, "Capitol citizens will be lined up outside, itching for a peek at tributes. This is your first chance to make an impact."

© weldherwings.

[/

 

[sollie]

willow adler

district 7

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focused

Train

[/tab]

Time to shine like fools gold.

Sleep came quickly to Willow, who felt both physically and mentally exhausted. The gentle rumbling of the train kept her in a deep state of sleep, filled with restless dreams of the past and the future. Of course, as all dreams were, there was very little truth to the images and experiences that raced past Willow's mind. Hadley’s final moments filled her head, only this time, instead of a quick, albeit gory death, it was augmented to repeat over and over, each time worse and worse. The barren arena Hadley played in quickly dissolved into a sandy desert, with a windstorm kicking dirt and grains of sand into her eyes. She wept, but not of sadness, of the pain and stinging the sand brought to her eyes.

Swiping frantically at her eyes, Willow cried out in her dream, looking for anyone to help her. For anyone to save her. Her mouth was dry and the sandy wasteland didn’t look like there would be any water for miles. Slowly but surely, she picked herself up, standing on legs barely strong enough to keep her vertical. Step by step, she began walking, endlessly walking across the dunes, dragging her feet through difficult sand, and looking for anything to provide her comfort.

No comfort came, nor help. What did come was the sharp, searing pain of a blade to her back. The only real experience Willow ever had with being cut came from an accident with Cedar when they were kids. She remembered the blood pouring from her palm and staining her new dress. It hurt, but she didn’t cry. Willow didn’t cry in her dream either. Only turning and attempting to pry the blade from her back which wouldn’t budge. Her assailant was speaking to her, but their voice felt distant and far away, as if they were speaking to her from underwater. She couldn’t see his face through the sand, and even if she took steps forward to reach him, he only got farther and farther away.

The sharp knock jolted Willow awake, the girl clutching the sheets with wide eyes and a racing heart. Where was she? She looked around the room, while her hands frantically searched her back for an injury. Thankfully, all she found was the wrinkled fabric of her dress. Rowan’s voice sounded like a pleasant relief from her sandy dream, although his words did not fully soothe her. They were close to the Capitol. Likely moments away from the short training period before the slaughter.

Willow swung her legs off the bed, raising uncertainty and stretching. Despite sleeping for such a long time, Willow did not feel well-rested. But at least she wasn’t so tired. Stepping into her shoes and sorting her hair out, she wondered if her attire was suited for the high fashion of the Capitol. Her mothers sewing was the best in District 7, but to the eyes of the Capitolites… Shaking her head, she reminded herself not to worry, taking a step towards the door as it automatically opened to Rowan’s form blocking her exit. “You’re in my way.” Willow stated, looking up at her mentor with furrowed brows and an intense look.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[darkersun]

rowan eichel

district 7

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exhasperated

train

[/tab]

fake smiles are all too common

An eyebrow quirk was the only visual que that Rowan had heard what Willow said, annoyance barely stifling an eyeroll. Looks like the nap didn't help with the girl's attitude, unfortunately. He opened his mouth to retort back, but the train underneath them noticably slowed, indicating that they were too close for Rowan to waste time with a conversation that would inevitably end in anger.

Instead, he pointedly stepped away from the door, locking Willow with an annoyed glance before taking off into the compartments as he spoke. "This moment isn't all that important, but it could make a possible sponsor interested if you play it well enough. Don't be overexcited - which I'm sure won't be an issue, but don't be sullen either, unless you are planning on playing haughty for the coming days."

And just like that, the two of them were near the dining cart window once more, and Rowan's mouth clamped closed into a practiced smile. The crowd's gathered, large and itching with excitement, wild to glance at the tributes before the entire country did. It was an animalistic display of excitement, and Gareth, who'd already been present and waving as they walked up, turned to his mentor with a overwhelmed glance.

"They're....very colorful." The boy tactfully muttered, and Rowan couldn't help but agree. The entire rainbow was on display, colors and shades that would never been found in District 7, with extreme body modifications common across the crowd as they wept from glee. Rowan himself showing up in the window elicited it's own response, with the screeches of the 'fans' reaching a new decibel. He didn't wave, nor glance at any person directly, but instead, gave a polite nod as his eyes roamed the crowd, watching those that believed Rowan glanced at them go wild.

These displays never seemed to get less uncomfortable for the victor, always unsettled in his skin, but at least this time, it was for a purpose. Each time they screamed or wept or otherwise responded, they were unintentionally watching his tributes, making judgements, but ultimately, paying attention. Even Aema, who'd been hanging back due to her relative unimportance, eyed Rowan with amusement. The escort had never understood his discomfort with the attention - considering it normal, and frankly, expected for his status as current heartthrob. The only time Rowan had managed to come clean about how dirty it felt, the glances and screeches and lack of attention towards his space, Aema had promptly told him to get over it, and he'd never uttered a word of it again.

"Yeah." Rowan answered back, "Welcome to the Capitol."

© weldherwings.

[/

 

[sollie]

willow adler

district 7

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focused

Train

[/tab]

A smile as sweet as a rose.

No words of gratitude left Willow’s mouth as she exited her room, squinting her eyes at the sudden brightness of the hallway. Holding a hand up to block the light from her eyes, Rowan was already talking strategy again. Social strategy. In the back of her mind, she wondered if that’s what Rowan was always thinking about. Wondering how to turn situations to his favor, if the lilt of his voice would play to his advantage, or the sweetness of his expression. Was there anything real about the Rowan Eichel he presented to the public and to his tributes? Willow thought not. “I’m not sullen,” She snapped as she found herself following Rowan towards– wherever. She assumed Gareth and Aema already were there.

Her eyes adjusted to the light but her ears perked up at the shrill sound of cheers and cries of joy from the Capitol citizens as Gareth acknowledged them as if they were animals to be observed. As much disdain as Willow found from it, she knew snarling or looking sour wouldn’t help her. Rowan made her remember that one. Cautiously approaching the large window, she stood next to Gareth, looking out at the crowd with wide eyes. They cried Gareth’s names, making comments or wishing for his attention. They yelled Rowan’s name, shouting compliments and statements. And they cheered her name. The endless sea of bright colors rejoiced in seeing her.

Willow looked to Gareth before looking out on the crowd, offering a small wave and a hint of a smile. That seemed to do the job– the crowd erupted from the acknowledgment. Her waving didn’t last very long, for she dropped her hand rather quickly after fanning the flames of the crowd. Before she knew it, the sea of color was gone, leaving only sights of the Capitol to look upon.

Furrowing her brows, Willow brought a hand up to her ear, poking at her tragus in an attempt to soothe the ringing caused by the muffled screams of Capitloties. She couldn’t imagine how badly her ears would suffer if she’d been out with them. “God they’re loud…” Willow grumbled, shaking her head. But that was the crowd she and Gareth were working with. Adoring fans of Rowan Eichel, and curious, in turn, about his budding tributes.

Looking at Gareth, she offered the younger boy a smile. “They looked like they liked you.. How about that?” She offered a small word of encouragement, as they’d heard rumors of what came next to prepare them for the few days of training, interviews and social events that would come next.

. . .

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[darkersun]

rowan eichel

district 7

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exhasperated

Outside the Training Arena

[/tab]

a beautiful smile, a sullen mind

An outburst of air escaped Rowan's mouth as the crowds finally disappeared, ears ringing. He ignored the pain, instead forcing himself back into the mind of a mentor. The tributes knew of the Tribute Parade, always displayed on the large screens in District 7, and he couldn't think, for the first time, of anything to warn them of. The design teams, as crazy and ditzy as they tended to be, would take care of them, and even if they fought, Gareth and Willow were much too weak to beat a group of Capitol designers with scissors and sharp objects.

Only a few seconds past the crowds, the train rolled to a complete stop, stillness underneath their feet for the first time in hours. Districts had their arrivals marked in time sections, which meant the doors opened immediately, and in the milliseconds before the entire compartment filled with the sounds of chatter, Aema blandly turned to the tributes, and spoke in the same distanced tone she usually had, "Meet your design teams."

Deftly, Rowan moved away, watching as the makeup teams scrambled on board, each surrounding their tributes and speaking at the speed of light. Before his eyes, the two tributes were pushed out by their prep teams and into the Remake Center, all in less than thirty seconds. His own trio of helpers popped in after both Willow and Gareth had left, already used to the sight of him.

Nevertheless, they all devolved into gossip as they led him to his own station, filling Rowan in on whatever was going on, from the delicious oats that Berenice had that morning to the drama that Salus had going on with his neighbor. The team worked efficiently, already experienced in Rowan's "personal" style, and just as used to his silence. In general, Rowan didn't prefer to speak when sharp objects were nearby, but the prep team had an additional benefit - calmness. They didn't speak expecting a response, nor did they want to dig into his personal life and desires like most other Capitol residents. They just...wanted to talk, and as long as Rowan let them, they'd leave him alone as well.

"Opal unfortunately can't come by today, obviouslyyyy, but she left your outfit with us!!!" Salus announced, the odd lilting tone of a true Capitol accent prominent in his voice.

The suit for today was a shiny deep green, sequined and matching the glittering eyeshadow covering both Rowan's eyelids and the roots of his slicked back hair. His ear piercings had unnaturally shiny leaves funneled through on tiny silver chains, and it was simple, an extremely simple look for Opal's taste. Stifling a laugh, Rowan decided he was actually looking forward to the parade and whatever costumes Willow and Gareth were forced within, if his obvious afterthought of an outfit was anything to go off of.

Thanking his team to the sound of coos and sugary goodbyes, Rowan finds himself escorted towards the other mentors. They all wait in a roped off area with the richest of Capitol citizens, watching the parade with an incredible view. It's an odd friendship with the mentors from the eleven other districts, one based off of bland conversations and pretending that they all aren't in direct competition. Nevertheless, Rowan had never seen a fight break out between them all, and everyone is always polite, even oddly protective, especially when it comes to the older victors and younger ones like himself.

Unwilling to be subjected to Capitol flirting before required, Rowan quickly positioned himself in a small group of mentors all craving the same, drinking sips of bubbly alcohol (or downing glasses, if one looked at District 12's Haymich Abernathy) and pretending to be invested in conversation. In just a few moments, each mentor would separate from the group, chatting up the richest members for sponsorships the second their tributes came into view, but for that minute, everything was uncomplicated.

© weldherwings.

[/

 

[sollie]

willow adler

district 7

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Overwhelmed, Performative

The Capitol

[/tab]

Don't let the adoration trick you; they only love your outside.

“Ouch!” Willow cried as another stripe of hair was ripped from her legs. She had fallen from trees, broken fingers, sliced her hand open with a dull axe, but none of it compared to the discomfort the women crowded around her on the cold metal table were providing. As soon as she and Gareth stepped off the train, they’d been whisked away by overly chatty and bright looking creatures that were supposedly supposed to be helping them adjust their look to Capitol standards. Well, if adjusting her look required any more ripping, plucking, shaving, or scrubbing, Willow thought she might just lose her mind.

“Stop your whining girl.” Reprimanded the woman with bright green hair and makeup caked as thick as mud on her face. “We can’t stand whining.” Another rip. Willow grit her teeth, wincing at the sudden yank of hair from her body. Surely the male tributes didn’t have to participate in such tortuous preparations? She couldn’t imagine Gareth or Hadley or even Rowan sitting through such a terrible thing. Her skin felt raw, as though they’d put chemicals to peel away the layers of thickened skin and dirt. The green-haired woman reached for one of her hands, while the called Alvius prepared another device of torture. “What is that?” Willow asked apprehensively. Her hands were not pretty, but they were important, built with years of thick calluses from climbing. They weren’t pretty but they were evidence of her hard work in the Forests. Alvius waited to answer, looking between the green-haired one.

“This just gets rid of those icky textures on your hands. Smooths them out. Makes them look nice.” Alvius explained.

Willow snatched her hand back, holding it protectively as if the two had just threatened to cut her fingers off. “No.” Willow said clearly. For the most part, in the two hours she’d been trapped in the Remake Center, she kept quiet, not saying a word except for the occasional noise of discomfort from the aggressive scrubbing or waxing or picking they did. But her no was clear and it was firm. They were not touching her hands.

“No?” The green haired one said, offering a laugh of disbelief. “You’re funny, you know that. Now give me your hand.”

Willow shook her head quickly, scooting further back on the table. “No…” She murmured out, trying to find anywhere to hide. But there wasn’t anywhere to hide. “Oh.” The woman said flatly with a frown. “You’re not joking…” For a moment Willow thought they would simply move on and allow her hands to remain untouched and perfect, just the way they needed to be, but in an instant the unused team started circling around her, hands flying out to hold her down as the green-haired lady went to work on her hands. She screamed bloody murder as they worked, thrashing and making the job incredibly difficult. “I thought Rowan would’ve taught these tributes better… Poor Opal has to deal with that creature next…” Alvius clicked his tongue as he and the rest of those that mutilated her hands left her.

The room felt crushingly silent the next moments as Willow tried to slow her heart, which pounded harshly against her ribs. Her hands were shaking, unable to stop as she looked at the raw, smooth skin. Running her thumb across her palm, she winced at the unfamiliar feeling of her skin. She hated her preparation team. She hated them. But that hate wasn’t able to fester for long, for the door opened up revealing a woman with white hair, an ancient face, and a garment of bright yellow feathers. Unlike many people in the Capitol, this woman wasn’t trying to conceal her age. From the looks of it, she looked older than anyone Willow had ever met, although the bright style and colorful makeup certainly gave her a youthful spring.

“My darling!” Willow recognized her voice– she’d been District 7’s main stylist for nearly forty years, if not longer. Opal Amery, though not greatly celebrated in the Districts, was a living legend among citizens of the Capitol. Anyone who was anyone wore her designs. Of course, Willow didn’t know that much, but from some of the chatter from her prep team, she found herself at the conclusion. “Thank goodness you’re not unsightly!” She celebrated, quickly approaching Willow. Her hands and eyes went to observing her body, exploring and detailing with every silent second. “Oh. How rude of me! I’ve just gone to work without properly introducing myself.” Walking with a funny little step, she snagged the robe and offered it to Willow.

“My name is Opal Amery and I will be your personal stylist. Isn’t that splendid?” Willow nodded, shrugging on the robe. It was hard not to smile at the older woman’s cheery and springy disposition. It felt different than the other Capitol citizens she’d been around. It felt genuine. Although, it was becoming more difficult to figure out what was genuine and what wasn’t. “I’ve already got some wonderful designs in my mind for you, my dearest Willow. Come now, follow me out of this dreadful sterile place…”

. . .

Opal, despite her age, was spry as a spring chicken. She bounced all over the room, seemingly, switching from idea to idea. She spoke of her design partner, who would be creating Gareth’s entrance look, and of the plethora of ideas the two had to spice up the usually lumber look. Of course, Willow didn’t care what she wore as long as she didn’t have to experience the hell of the Remake Center ever again. Tributes from District 7 often sported the outfits of lumberjacks, the typical profession of the District. Willow recalled a funny year where the design team had fitted the tributes in horrible log costumes… Okay, maybe Willow cared a little bit what they put her in.

“Of course, with you and Gareth being so small,” Willow turned back into the conversation. “It might look a bit strange but… No doubt! It’s decided. Diamond will be thrilled we’ve decided on a concept, my darling… I know it sounds mad to have created several costumes but… I can’t help myself. This will be just perfect!”

It took time to prepare Willow’s hair and face. Her skin was peppered in liquid that resembled her skin tone, but didn’t manage to be nearly as thick as anyone in the Capitol’s. Her eyes were lined with green, gold sparkles and glitter being added to emphasize her eyes. Willow didn’t recognize herself in the mirror, not after her hair had been brushed and braided into a million intricate braids, with only a few strands of hair staying out to frame her face. In her opinion, she looked like an alien. And the audacious outfit Opal wiggled her in didn’t help. Surely it was illegal to wear something like this? When Gareth finally came into view, the pair made eye contact before bursting out into laughter.

“Ah! You love it, don’t you!” Opal said joyously. Gareth and Willow were taken to the bottom floor of the Remake Center, where tributes in fully decked out costumes from their district stood and awaited boarding their chariot. Their faces were familiar thanks to the broadcast they watched, but it was much more intimidating to see them in person, intense and focused careers who, even in their silly District costumes, looked fierce and formidable.

“At least we’re not the only ones that look like fools,” Gareth said, cracking another smile. If the kid had one thing on his side, it was being a ray of sunshine in a dark room. He managed to make Willow smile, even after her horrifying experience in the Remake Center. The glittering tributes from District One passed by her and Gareth, standing tall and intimidatingly, even in their bright white sequined outfits. Their faces shone with silver paint and rhinestones. “Kind of small for trees, don’t you think Hero?” Ruby Florentine and her counterpart Hero were the ones Rowan said didn’t get along. Perhaps their mentors encouraged them to show a united front. “They’re just costumes…” Hero murmured, urging Ruby to continue.

Gareth cracked a smile as did Willow, the two shaking their heads. “Rowan was right about one thing; They hate each other.” The boy said with a giggle. She wouldn’t admit it, but it seemed true. Ruby and Hero were dysfunctional, which meant it would be much easier to steer clear of them if they were too focused on killing each other. “You two are going to shine!” Opal said as the two District 7 tributes mounted the chariots. “Make sure to smile!”

The opening ceremony music began to blare from outside, easy to hear and distinguish the familiar tune, even from the Remake Center. The crowd buzzed with energy, and even if Willow still felt scorned from her prep team, this was the first true impression she and Gareth would make on the people of the Capitol. The giant doors open and the crowd erupts, cheering loudly for District 1, 2 and so forth and so on. Eventually, their horses began to move, the deep chocolate mares clopping along leisurely as Willow and Gareth are revealed to the public.

She felt overwhelmed, looking at the stands filled with people, the crowd lined street cheering and hollering for their favorite tributes. Gareth soaks it up, fueled by the crowd and waving frantically at everyone. It seems that’s the right move, for the crowd eats it up. Willow raises a hand slowly and shyly, just as she did in the train, waving with less vigor than Gareth.

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.

 

[darkersun]

rowan eichel

district 7

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amused

Outside the Training Arena

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play it smart

As the sky around the Capitol darkened, the crowd grew larger, and more and more voices could be heard. The little area Rowan was standing in was filled with people, and the mentors, with only a few meaningful glances towards each other, separated from their large group, going over to familiar faces to schmooze in the final minutes. Rowan himself somehow was embroiled in a conversation with the wife of a gamemaker, shill and quite honestly annoying as she talked of her excitement toward the games.

"And then we've planned a dinner for opening night - very fancy!" She screeched, blue eyelashes the size of butterfly wings flapping away. Rowan knew what was coming before she even opened her mouth. "Maybe you'd like to attend?! It'll take it to the next level - my dinner will be the talk of the town!"

There is was. An invitation to some rich woman's party, and an invitation to be stared at and touched and flirted with for hours. Bile rose into Rowan's throat, but he just gave a small smile, choosing to pretend to be thrilled.

" Your invitation is most kind. I'll have to consider it but my tributes may require my assistance," He muttered, false pity in tone before a planned pause brought silence to the conversation, "Unless - well, I had the sponsor money to spare. Then I presume I would be free to attend your dinner party."

Trap set. Rowan watched as the woman chewed on her tattooed cheek, pouting before opening her mouth once more, just as the opening music began blaring. Taking the opportunity, Rowan raised his glass, giving a polite nod as he exited the conversation, moving towards the front of the roped off area to see the tributes with increasing clarity.

From their position, the entire parade could be seen, and Rowan watched carefully as the tributes began appearing. Most gave nothing away, no more than what Rowan had already assumed of them, and dressed in their silly costumes, it was difficult to see anything but bright fabrics and false smiles coming in there direction. It was almost boring, for no purpose other than a performance, until, of course District 7 appeared.

And Rowan? Well, Rowan barely held back laughter. His two tributes, tiny and thin, were dressed as trees - redwood trees. The crowd went crazy for them, waving frantically towards them both, but all the mentor could think of was sticking Willow and Gareth next to the tall giants in the woods, older than time and the most respected living beings in District 7. Opal's vision was iconic, although Rowan knew all too well she didn't consider it such, and he could practically imagine the town meeting hall back home fighting back chuckles amongst the dark mood of the evening. Truly, Willow and Gareth's outfits represented a Capitol's eye-view more perfectly than Rowan could ever imagine.

"Quite tree-like, your tributes. My very first thought when I saw their reaping. " A familiar voice mocked from Rowan's right, and he turned towards the District 4 mentor with a small, rare grin. They weren't friends, not officially, but Finnick Odair and Rowan had spent quite a bit of time together in the last couple years, and if forced to choose, Rowan did assume Finnick was his closest relationship amongst the mentors. In any case, his presence beside Rowan was anything but shocking, and the victor found himself almost expecting Finnick's comments before the other even spoke.

"Oh yes," Rowan joked back, motioning towards the District 4 tributes, covered in scales that shimmered with holographic fabric, " And your tributes just scream...fish."

Finnick took the joke in gest, raising the glass in his hand before taking a sip. They never stuck around each other for long, all too aware of the "jackpot" they presented when standing together, and with a laugh and a wink, Finnick disappeared into the crowd around them once more.

Rowan chuckled to himself for a few moments, taking the last few peaceful moments of the night to himself before wandering off, looking for Capitolites to convince of sponsoring his tributes.

© weldherwings.

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