[fic] dig out our flaws
I'm giving you guys a sneak peek of a new fic because I'm terrified it won't have an audience. Let me know what you think, especially if something doesn't transition right. This is a beta version of the fic.
Everyone in the Capitol has their favourite Victor: the people, the Gamemakers, politicians, doctors, other celebrities. Even the President’s sons have inclinations towards certain victors, though Marcius is too proud to admit he has an affinity towards Brutus. Mostly because of how fluid Caius is with them - drinking and sexing them up every other weekend - he's a disgrace to the prestige of his own name. Muddying the fear their father puts into the people of Panem.
All of this settles when reckless Caius stops a second in his drunken stupor to watch the Sixty-First Games. His eyes glazed with inebriation watch as Cashmere Reitz is shoved down in a puddle of mud then yanked back up by the roots of her hair. Normally, Caius would be shouting at the televised projection like the rest of the bar, rooting for the boy from District Two who managed to put the prissy District One girl in her place. However, something about the way she gurgles the mud, wretches, then has her face forced back into the puddle has his arteries twisting in complex nautical knots.
He wants her out of that boy’s hands. Wants her out of that slimy wetland of an arena and to be in a warm, feathery bed with an actual meal. Wants her to kill that bastard who would dare lay a hand on her. Wants to see her smile and giggle like she did with Caesar twelve days ago. Caius wants nothing more than to take her home with him so no one can ever hurt her again.
That night, when Caius finds Enobaria waiting in his bed like she always is, he cannot follow through with their routine. Dropping down onto the bed, he stares up at the sheer canopy and bears his heart. Anguish pouring out as he comes to realize the atrocity that is the Hunger Games and the desire to save Cashmere.
As she listens, her lips pull back in a grin as they expose her pointed teeth. Caius swallows back a lump of bile at the sight of them, no longer aroused by his mortality.
“So, Mr. Snow, what do you want to do with all these feelings now?” She purrs, reminding him so much of Tigris, the stylist he slept with only once.
“What is there to possibly do but harbour them until I lose my mind?” He replies.
Enobaria breaks out into laughter before pressing a kiss to his cheek and whispering, “You can do anything you want. You are the President’s son after all.”
*
Day in and day out Caius plays his part but with a heavy heart as he mulls over Enobaria’s words. What could be possibly do as the President’s son, trapped by the rules that enslave Panem much like everyone else; nepotism does not exempt him from cuts, bruises, or death. Maybe he can start with her, beautiful darling Cashmere who scalped the District Two boy to victory, but won’t so much as bat an eyelash at him (as if something froze over inside of her).
Plagued with dead end ideas, March 21st arrives before he realizes New Years had come and gone. Sitting in his usual plush chair around the board room table, listening half-heartedly to the blathering of Academy directors praise their star pupils, until a familiar set of eyes appear on screen.
Gloss Reitz, the name before the boy’s portrait reads. That’s it! He can save the brother!
*3 Years Later*
March 21st is they day they gather to pick the upcoming year’s Tributes. The Academy directors of Districts One, Two, and Four sit to the right; Caius, Marcius, and the Gamemaker sit to the left, while President Snow sits at the head of the long board room table. This year its Plutarch Heavensbee sitting in the Gamemaker’s chair, replacing the retired Seius Crane.
Like every year, the Academy directors display their choice for Volunteers first. Gushing reverently over each of their top candidates statistics, as if they have something to prove. The districts’ children do speak for themselves, they don’t need to be advocated for by the swine that offer them up for a crown of thorns - or so Caius believes anyhow.
Bored by the drivel, Caius’ gaze trails from the projected images of the coming year’s District Four’s tributes to Plutarch Heavensbee who is riffling through the folders of other potential Tributes. The Gamemaker is focused, finger tapping softly against his lips in deep thought until suddenly it stops and his hand shoots into the air.
“Excuse me, Director Axia, if I may interrupt for a moment.” He lifts his head from the pages to make direct eye contact. “Can you give me more information on Finnick Odair?”
Heavensbee seems to have stumped her, bringing a great deal of amusement to Caius, which drags his attention from Plutarch to his father who also displays a degree of intrigue.
“Mr. Heavensbee, sir, I really do think you should see who we have lined up as volunteers. They will exceed your expectations for the show, especially in th-”
“Ms Axia, Plutarch has asked you very kindly about a specific candidate, please do so,” the President speaks crisply. The director visibly gulps before she scrambles to pull up Finnick Odair’s file.
Plutarch grins as Caius’ jaw drops. He has never seen a boy so young and absolutely scrumptious. Finnick’s sea green eyes are sharp as they hone in on the projectile launched from the second floor of the Academy training center. At only fourteen, he has the height of a seventeen year old and the command of a trident like a fifty year old, skewering each target as if they were fish in a net. And like an elegant garnish, Finnick punctuates his display by looking back at the camera with a genuine grin asking “how was that”?
Caius cannot find it in him to suppress the ugly surge of lust that runs through his veins for this young tribute. Throwing away years of turmoil and reducing his laments of change to empty words.
“Interesting. It’s been quite a while since we’ve had such a young man show so much promise,” the President says. “What do you say Caius? Marcius?”
To obtain the boy and bring him into their world there is no other way than through the Games. Caius’ heart aches for what he must do, but Panem needs Finnick Odair. He needs Finnick Odair. Hopefully, the boy will forgive him one day if he ever finds out.
“I vote yes,” Caius says. “The Capitol will adore him!” And devour him, but not until Caius does so first.
“Very well, that’s three votes in favour of Mr. Odair as Male Tribute. Who else do you advise Mr. Heavensbee?”
*
Well into the evening, Caius couldn’t forget about Finnick Odair. Sitting in his parlour by the fireplace, those green eyes remain burned behind his eyelids as that crackling pubescent voice asking “how was that” plays on a loop in his head. Oh how time moves slowly.
“I wasn’t going to say anything during the meeting, but you are aware you are in a relationship with Cashmere Reitz, yes?” Marcius speaks above the rim of his tea cup, startling Caius.
His sweet, darling, gorgeous Cashmere, how even his love for her cannot compete with this craving. “Yes, Brother, I am aware. She is the love life after all.” Caius rolls his eyes as he takes the steaming cup offered to him by one of the many Avoxes in their mansion.
Marcius chuckles. “The love of your life, that’s why you want the boy. Who you don’t even know will be victorious might I add.”
“Oh! He will be victorious. Dear old Mags won’t have any trouble getting people to sponsor him. If by some fluke she can’t, I can arrange for that to be fixed.” Caius grins.
“Finnick means as much as Cashmere does to you?” Marcius sighs. Caius has not spoken of going to great lengths to save a boy from the arena since Cashmere’s brother Gloss. The day he stepped onto the hovercraft headed back to Panem after the Sixty-Second Games, Cashmere flew into Caius’ arms and has not left since.
“It would be a great loss if Panem could not celebrate him. But the loss would be strictly my own without Cashmere and that’s unmeasurably unbearable.”
The simmering lust do not pull the strings on these pretty words. Cashmere has slowly but surely become a part of him that he could not replace, a dip in his bed that a new mattress can’t cover. He loves her through the night terrors as she relives scalping Syn, watching Kaiser eaten alive by mutts, and her own phantom pain of her hair being ripped from her skull. Her exterior as sold as a diamonds, but beneath it all lays a kindness and warmth Caius adores.
“Then this… attraction to the boy is…” Marcius quirks a brow.
“Nothing! Absolutely harmless,” He lies seamlessly.
“Good.” Marcius relaxes back into the plush chair across from Caius. “I would loathe to see you break my darling Sister’s heart.”
“I would never. I would sooner die.”
Except death did not come, only the bitter limbo of the aftermath of his actions.
Part Two : http://haka-nai.livejournal.com/13886.html
Everyone in the Capitol has their favourite Victor: the people, the Gamemakers, politicians, doctors, other celebrities. Even the President’s sons have inclinations towards certain victors, though Marcius is too proud to admit he has an affinity towards Brutus. Mostly because of how fluid Caius is with them - drinking and sexing them up every other weekend - he's a disgrace to the prestige of his own name. Muddying the fear their father puts into the people of Panem.
All of this settles when reckless Caius stops a second in his drunken stupor to watch the Sixty-First Games. His eyes glazed with inebriation watch as Cashmere Reitz is shoved down in a puddle of mud then yanked back up by the roots of her hair. Normally, Caius would be shouting at the televised projection like the rest of the bar, rooting for the boy from District Two who managed to put the prissy District One girl in her place. However, something about the way she gurgles the mud, wretches, then has her face forced back into the puddle has his arteries twisting in complex nautical knots.
He wants her out of that boy’s hands. Wants her out of that slimy wetland of an arena and to be in a warm, feathery bed with an actual meal. Wants her to kill that bastard who would dare lay a hand on her. Wants to see her smile and giggle like she did with Caesar twelve days ago. Caius wants nothing more than to take her home with him so no one can ever hurt her again.
That night, when Caius finds Enobaria waiting in his bed like she always is, he cannot follow through with their routine. Dropping down onto the bed, he stares up at the sheer canopy and bears his heart. Anguish pouring out as he comes to realize the atrocity that is the Hunger Games and the desire to save Cashmere.
As she listens, her lips pull back in a grin as they expose her pointed teeth. Caius swallows back a lump of bile at the sight of them, no longer aroused by his mortality.
“So, Mr. Snow, what do you want to do with all these feelings now?” She purrs, reminding him so much of Tigris, the stylist he slept with only once.
“What is there to possibly do but harbour them until I lose my mind?” He replies.
Enobaria breaks out into laughter before pressing a kiss to his cheek and whispering, “You can do anything you want. You are the President’s son after all.”
*
Day in and day out Caius plays his part but with a heavy heart as he mulls over Enobaria’s words. What could be possibly do as the President’s son, trapped by the rules that enslave Panem much like everyone else; nepotism does not exempt him from cuts, bruises, or death. Maybe he can start with her, beautiful darling Cashmere who scalped the District Two boy to victory, but won’t so much as bat an eyelash at him (as if something froze over inside of her).
Plagued with dead end ideas, March 21st arrives before he realizes New Years had come and gone. Sitting in his usual plush chair around the board room table, listening half-heartedly to the blathering of Academy directors praise their star pupils, until a familiar set of eyes appear on screen.
Gloss Reitz, the name before the boy’s portrait reads. That’s it! He can save the brother!
*3 Years Later*
March 21st is they day they gather to pick the upcoming year’s Tributes. The Academy directors of Districts One, Two, and Four sit to the right; Caius, Marcius, and the Gamemaker sit to the left, while President Snow sits at the head of the long board room table. This year its Plutarch Heavensbee sitting in the Gamemaker’s chair, replacing the retired Seius Crane.
Like every year, the Academy directors display their choice for Volunteers first. Gushing reverently over each of their top candidates statistics, as if they have something to prove. The districts’ children do speak for themselves, they don’t need to be advocated for by the swine that offer them up for a crown of thorns - or so Caius believes anyhow.
Bored by the drivel, Caius’ gaze trails from the projected images of the coming year’s District Four’s tributes to Plutarch Heavensbee who is riffling through the folders of other potential Tributes. The Gamemaker is focused, finger tapping softly against his lips in deep thought until suddenly it stops and his hand shoots into the air.
“Excuse me, Director Axia, if I may interrupt for a moment.” He lifts his head from the pages to make direct eye contact. “Can you give me more information on Finnick Odair?”
Heavensbee seems to have stumped her, bringing a great deal of amusement to Caius, which drags his attention from Plutarch to his father who also displays a degree of intrigue.
“Mr. Heavensbee, sir, I really do think you should see who we have lined up as volunteers. They will exceed your expectations for the show, especially in th-”
“Ms Axia, Plutarch has asked you very kindly about a specific candidate, please do so,” the President speaks crisply. The director visibly gulps before she scrambles to pull up Finnick Odair’s file.
Plutarch grins as Caius’ jaw drops. He has never seen a boy so young and absolutely scrumptious. Finnick’s sea green eyes are sharp as they hone in on the projectile launched from the second floor of the Academy training center. At only fourteen, he has the height of a seventeen year old and the command of a trident like a fifty year old, skewering each target as if they were fish in a net. And like an elegant garnish, Finnick punctuates his display by looking back at the camera with a genuine grin asking “how was that”?
Caius cannot find it in him to suppress the ugly surge of lust that runs through his veins for this young tribute. Throwing away years of turmoil and reducing his laments of change to empty words.
“Interesting. It’s been quite a while since we’ve had such a young man show so much promise,” the President says. “What do you say Caius? Marcius?”
To obtain the boy and bring him into their world there is no other way than through the Games. Caius’ heart aches for what he must do, but Panem needs Finnick Odair. He needs Finnick Odair. Hopefully, the boy will forgive him one day if he ever finds out.
“I vote yes,” Caius says. “The Capitol will adore him!” And devour him, but not until Caius does so first.
“Very well, that’s three votes in favour of Mr. Odair as Male Tribute. Who else do you advise Mr. Heavensbee?”
*
Well into the evening, Caius couldn’t forget about Finnick Odair. Sitting in his parlour by the fireplace, those green eyes remain burned behind his eyelids as that crackling pubescent voice asking “how was that” plays on a loop in his head. Oh how time moves slowly.
“I wasn’t going to say anything during the meeting, but you are aware you are in a relationship with Cashmere Reitz, yes?” Marcius speaks above the rim of his tea cup, startling Caius.
His sweet, darling, gorgeous Cashmere, how even his love for her cannot compete with this craving. “Yes, Brother, I am aware. She is the love life after all.” Caius rolls his eyes as he takes the steaming cup offered to him by one of the many Avoxes in their mansion.
Marcius chuckles. “The love of your life, that’s why you want the boy. Who you don’t even know will be victorious might I add.”
“Oh! He will be victorious. Dear old Mags won’t have any trouble getting people to sponsor him. If by some fluke she can’t, I can arrange for that to be fixed.” Caius grins.
“Finnick means as much as Cashmere does to you?” Marcius sighs. Caius has not spoken of going to great lengths to save a boy from the arena since Cashmere’s brother Gloss. The day he stepped onto the hovercraft headed back to Panem after the Sixty-Second Games, Cashmere flew into Caius’ arms and has not left since.
“It would be a great loss if Panem could not celebrate him. But the loss would be strictly my own without Cashmere and that’s unmeasurably unbearable.”
The simmering lust do not pull the strings on these pretty words. Cashmere has slowly but surely become a part of him that he could not replace, a dip in his bed that a new mattress can’t cover. He loves her through the night terrors as she relives scalping Syn, watching Kaiser eaten alive by mutts, and her own phantom pain of her hair being ripped from her skull. Her exterior as sold as a diamonds, but beneath it all lays a kindness and warmth Caius adores.
“Then this… attraction to the boy is…” Marcius quirks a brow.
“Nothing! Absolutely harmless,” He lies seamlessly.
“Good.” Marcius relaxes back into the plush chair across from Caius. “I would loathe to see you break my darling Sister’s heart.”
“I would never. I would sooner die.”
Except death did not come, only the bitter limbo of the aftermath of his actions.
Part Two : http://haka-nai.livejournal.com/13886.html