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capricious_capricies ([personal profile] capricious_capricies) wrote2014-02-03 11:14 pm
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Title: Nisus et Euryalus
Author: Capricies
Rating: PG-13 (and then R later)
Word Count: 1834
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and I don't make any money off them either :P
Summary: Hunger Games/ The Eagle crossover. Marcus, son of a victor-turned-traitor from District 2, and Esca, an orphaned outsider from District 7 are both chosen by vote to compete in the 1st Quarter Quell.
Author Notes: At the end
(Cross-posted to: capricious_capricies on dw)



The next few months drag by, and the restlessness mostly melts into something which resembles apathy. Marcus watches everything happen like it used to, but now he sees the scorn in his neighbor’s eyes, the worry in the eyes of the kids that go to school with him. The knowledge changes nothing and everything all at once.

The Reaping almost sneaks up on him in the monotony of things.
The night before, he lies sleepless in bed, thinking about what the next day has in store for him, thinking about the children who will be chosen, not called tomorrow, about the Capitol sitting at home, watching them.

That morning, as he stands in the group for eighteen year-old boys, at the very front staring right at the great big Justice Building, he can almost believe that it’s like every other year: they’ll start after all the little kids have gotten checked, someone will be picked- someone else will volunteer he’ll go home, sit with his uncle and the Games will go on. But the worry in his stomach won’t let him melt into the past, well, his stomach and the long track of adults between the boy and girls sections, lined up to a singular booth.
The Plaza is quiet as the Mayor, the District 2 Escort, Martial Lockhearst, and the Mentors for this year, Alana Estling and Styx Colvin all sit in front of the Justice Building waiting for the voting to come in.

It seems like hours he stands there, worrying because he can’t tell his brain not to. He stares at the imposing building in front of him; almost memorizes it with its tall columns and its dull grey stone- stone that seems to darken the sunlight around it, the small gold details in the architecture. Marcus stares but his thoughts are elsewhere: wondering if the voting’s rigged or not, who his uncle is voting for other than him, about the girls likely to be picked, if they’re out of his village- maybe Tulia or Savera Redpath, both which never seemed to be well liked, for reasons beyond his guessing.

Maybe his pariah-ism went so far that they would put up Laramiee Allardyce just for that one time they kissed when he found her stumbling back from what he thought was probably a party. He would feel guilty if she was chosen. It would be his fault.

Marcus almost feels relief when he sees the perfectly coifed hair of their escort Martial Lockhearst come out of the Justice Building looking blasé as always, his expression (or lack thereof) enhanced by his dark lipstick and the smudged grey powder ringed around his eyes. His suit is a dark and sullen, well fitted but oddly cut. Marcus tries to take deep breathes and focus on Martial or the Mayor, or anything that wasn’t his quickening heart and quiet, unsteady breathes.

He has been dealing with the past few weeks, one day at a time and usually it was fine but sometimes, moments like these would happen when his body wasn’t quite sure what to feel and two different emotions rush at him. Marcus makes himself breath through it as he half listens to the story of Panem. He watches Martial Lockhearst talk in his ridiculous grey pea-coat and over accented ‘s’-es about the dark days and tributes and by the time the peacekeeper carries on the small table holding the envelopes that replaced the two Reaping Balls this year Marcus has calmed himself down. The table is placed in front of Martial, with the envelopes on respective stands allowing the audience to see the backs labelled girl on one and boy on the other.
Lockhearst stands still for a moment a terse smirk on his face as he surveys the crowd as if he was judging them, everyone one of them, for a rebellion twenty-five years past, and the district mayor stands behind him looking as gray and hard as the quarries she’s meant to keep under the Capitol’s control and Marcus feels as if this moment last for ages, this one moment before anything really happens, before any decisions were made as if there is the slightest possibility that everything will be called off.
But the moment ends- Martial says “Girls first”, reaches over, and gives the crowd a long look. He opens the envelope slowly, the paper’s tearing audible from the audience, and reads out the name Cottia Vallentyne; a girl Marcus doesn’t know, and he guesses she’s probably from another village. He sees on the screen as a girl emerges from the fourteen year olds around her, staring at the camera as if challenging them for their decision. She rings of fierceness and rebellion, her hair down and unruly, curly red locks streaked with blonde falling down her back and around her shoulders. Her dress is simple and her pale skin marked with dark stains. It is no doubt why she was chosen, and Marcus feels as if he will never measure up to this girl in strength of spirit, of which she obviously has so much more than him.  
Cottia ignores the peacekeepers as they flank her, her head upright as she walks- looking so confident Marcus could almost believe she had volunteered.
“Now Boys” Martial says, managing to sound completely uninterested, despite the numerous eyes trained on Cottia. The moment is over quickly: Martial carefully opens the envelope and reads his name.
To Marcus, it rings and echoes until all he can hear in his head is “Marcus Aquila” bouncing around the inside of his skull. He sees the Peacekeepers and knows he is supposed to walk, so he does although he knows he must look stiff and lifeless.

A faint part of him lets him know that he should act like this doesn’t faze him, like Cottia- to show that they can’t get to him. And for the sake of his pride, he brings himself together, making himself tall and trying to look composed as he walks. He sees himself on the screen for a while and can’t help but let a twinge of an ironic smirk leak through, he’s so oddly glad that he’s managed to look so opposite to the way he feels. As he stands flanking Martial, with Cottia on the other side, he feels numb and helpless, and not for the first time, the constraints of Panem way down on him.

They are led into the justice building, in separate rooms where Marcus waits for his uncle to visit.
He does, eventually.

Marcus stares at him for a while, imagining all the stories he missed out on hearing and all the conversations they will never have again. A stab of regret hits him as his uncle holds out his arms for a hug and Marcus hugs him, tight; remembering the moments when he was a child preforming the same action, how big and strong his uncle seemed then.

They both take a shaky breath as his uncle releases him to hold on to Marcus’ shoulders.
“My Boy” he says affectionately “This will be hard on you, but I know and promise you’ll behave with courage and honor. You are strong and able. Remember.”
Marcus nods, but his Uncle’s words don’t sink through.

The Peacekeepers open the door and his Uncle gives him one last hug and then, before he can blink his uncle is out the door, leaving Marcus with a disproportionate amount of grief.
 
He sits still for what seems like a long time before the Peacekeepers come get him, in a strange place between thinking furiously and without rest and not thinking at all. It takes him a while to make himself stop, and he only manages to do so by focusing on furniture in the room, putting it to memory bit by bit. He comes to distinguish the knick in the end table, the exact color of mahogany of the coffee table, the feel of the velvet chair he sitting in. And then he sees it, laying on the end table near the door- a necklace which couldn’t have been there when Marcus first entered the room. He gets up, looks at the pendant-a small carved eagle made out of wood, obviously old.  His Uncle had left him a token. He puts it on over his head, and feels better- like he has something to hold on to. Then, the peacekeepers enter, usher him out of the room.

He and Cottia are both are put into the car, side by side. Marcus looks out the window, trying to memorize the way the mountains look in front of the sun, knowing that he probably won’t see them again.  He watches all the way to the station, and when they arrive he almost feels cheated from a proper goodbye to his district. He holds onto his eagle, clasping it so hard that when he has to pull his hand away to get past the mob he can see the impressions the wings left on his hand. There are cameras everywhere and for every two a journalist in front of it, Marcus stands beside Cottia, not allowing himself to think past the moment and when they are finally allowed on the train, he finds nothing much has changed in regard to his thought process

Marcus arrives at his rooms for the night and he is overcome with a want to absolutely nothing but sleep. But apparently, supper would be soon, if Martial Lockhearst is to be believed, so Marcus forces himself to take a shower and get dressed in some regular looking slacks and a white dress shirt which had been procured for him because he sure didn’t own something so nice.

He looks into a mirror before he leaves, and sees that he looks as tired as he feels.
Supper is silent and has an air of fragility to it. Marcus sits looking at Martial Lockhearst across the table, and the two mentors flanking him and Cottia. Marcus remembers seeing both Styx and Alana at the Victor’s Village, of course they never talked to him. Most Victors believe that Marcus and his Uncle do not deserve their house, after all they weren’t the ones that earned it. Alana had won most recently, viciously hunting down the tributes in the 23rd Hunger Games and Styx had won some times ago, if Marcus remembers correctly,  he had been mentoring for some time.
All of them seem so imposing, so large and most of all so foreign.  All had a cold, dispassionate look and Marcus feels them towering over him, a feeling he hasn’t had since he was a child.
 
He feels as if he is having lunch with giants and Cottia is the only one he can believe is truly human. Strange, considering he hasn’t had the chance to even introduce himself let alone trust her. He supposes in some way this is better considering one or both of them are going to die.

Author Notes: Since all I had to do was edit what I already had I decided to post this now instead of later (when I might forget :P).
Just for future reference I am using this map of Panem:

 

 

 

panem-map-770x609
original source here
(sorry its so big this was the only one readable quality I could find) The reason I am using this map is because It seems much more well planned than that "offical" Map released with the App which didn't make any sense not only for the organization of Panem but also for the general uses of the district.

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