#alecta

[gemmarosewater]

The Career Pack had decided to meet up after the first day of training to compare notes. Caspian was always a lover of gossip and talking about other people behind their backs, but he was surprised that they had all managed to agree to meet. He was glad that the pack seemed to be forming already, but he was also hyper aware that there was lots of potential for drama, especially with the Bricks. So when he sat down in the District One lounge where they'd all agreed to meet, he was determined to get ahead of any of that shit. "Well that was all a hilarious shitshow," he said, referring to the outer district tributes at training.

@alecta-beckwourth

[burr-sting]

Augie initially thought she'd reached a park as she exited the shadow of an alley, but a looming stone building sitting at the far side of the green space made it pretty clear she was looking at a lawn. The building stood out, as opposed to another miscellaneous skyscraper, so Augie knew that whatever she had just passed was something the Gamemakers wanted the tributes to interact with. It made her nervous, but so far no buildings she'd seen had been dangerous in and of themselves - it was just certain elements. A guard cat-mutt or a freezer that locked from the outside. And Augie wouldn't mind a place to rest away from prying eyes - at least, prying eyes that weren't the cameras. Somehow, she'd almost forgotten the cameras.

Augie had to stop to catch her breath twice going up the far too many steps to the building't entrance, but when she got to the top, the doors were unlocked. The lobby inside was empty, just an empty desk and a metal detector. She needed to go through it to get any further into the building, and she didn't exactly feel hidden in the open lobby right by the door. She knew the drill from work - bag and shoes go around the side, she goes through the electronic frame. Easy peasy.

As Augie stepped through, she was thrown to her knees by the loudest noise she had heard in a very long time. An alarm. She'd set off an alarm. She scanned her body trying to figure out what could have possibly set it off - was it the wristband that tracked her vitals? Was there somehow a bobby pin in her hair left from her interview? No, there was no time to think about it. She had to move. Now.

But the further she stepped into the hallway the louder the alarm got. She tried to endure but when the sound got overwhelming, Augie changed tactics. She tried exiting back out the metal detector but that didn't work either, and the alarm was still blaring. There was no button when she checked the desk. The only way to go now was back out the doors, where every tribute in the Arena now knew someone was inside. Augie couldn't - there were too many steps and she would be too exposed, especially in her black suit against all the bright posters.

No, Augie had to wait it out. The alarm would have to stop sounding eventually, right? Augie hastily put her shoes back on, grabbed her bag, and threw herself under the desk. It was the obvious hiding spot, yes, but it was the only hiding spot. The noise was too much and she couldn't think straight. Augie was out of options.

@caspianfirth @alecta-beckwourth @masonxxbrick

[callistomeadowforge]

@alecta-beckwourth

Another tumble off the hoverboard didn't deter her. Falling was half the fun, wasn't it? Wasn't that what her mother had always told her whenever she'd slipped while climbing as a child? Sliding down this half-pipe almost felt harmless compared to falling off a tree.

More importantly, messing around with the experiments in the building was a lot more fun than sitting on her hands waiting for Alecta Beckwourth. If River was a little bit more honest with herself, she might admit that it was less about the fun and more about how distracting it was. If she was even more honest, she might admit that the idea of meeting Alecta frightened her.

They hadn't spoken, but that might have been by design. River hadn't exactly been going out of her way to get friendly with careers. The two she had become friendly with felt like strokes of luck more than anything.

She got back on the board. Maybe Alecta wouldn't come. Maybe this stupid puzzle wouldn't get solved and they would just have to deal with whatever was coming their way.

[maytheoddshq]

Alecta Beckwourth (she/her). District One Tribute. 21. Jessie Mei Li.

When you’re appraising a fur coat, there are a few things you should look for. First, part the hair at the base of the fur near the pelt. If there is a weave there, the product is synthetic. If not, you should see skin. No, feel it. Real skin is like suede. One luxury like another. And unlike diamonds – rigid, brittle things that they are – quality hide gives if you tug. Slight pressure, and it will adapt. The best fur is made to be well-worn. 

The Beckwourths have always been fur traders and master furriers. Sable, lynx and chinchilla – the craft is finer now, more polished, yes. But still much the same. A proud legacy of the divine, wherein something brutal bears the sweet fruit of something beautiful. Before Alecta held a knife in battle, she held it for the fleshing of hide. To stretch muscles before a fight meant as much to her as to stretch the skin of the mink. To tan and dye and sew them finely into even strips, to create an armor for the elite, not to protect their bodies (though it did keep them warm), but to maintain their social status. Their economic elitism – well-established and evident by the act of donning these. 

And so her craft bled into her schooling, into the way she competed to be the best. It was not an option, not a desire. Simply a fact. A foretelling. In the academy, Alecta was ruthless and brutal, for what did it serve her not to be? There was great fortune awaiting her, but that was given. A birthright. Alecta wanted something earned, something she had crafted herself, finer than any fur. A victory all her own. A crown, shining bright. 

It wasn’t hard. In the academy, it was a simple game to play. Who had the most? Who hit the hardest? Who held their head highest? Alecta won every time. The others fell into place at her side. To her right, always, was Cyril. Her guard dog, her protector. No, she did not need that. Her enforcer, for when a trap needed setting, or a wounded animal needed to be reminded of its place. For years, this was the natural order of things, the constant build toward a most fitting end – subsequent victories. First Alecta, then Cyril. 

But it never came. Or, rather, it came all at once. The curse of lording one’s self too boldly above the rest: Alecta and Cyril were chosen, tops of their class, plucked as the finest goods One had and traded to the Capitol as tributes for the same Games. And they raised their hands. Volunteered. Willingly, yes, but not without frustration. Not without self-righteous indignation, spilling out all over the place. But it’s just as well. Tradition, legacy, glory – these were things the Games had begun to lose, had forgotten the importance of. A strong Career Pack, the value of hard work over a sob story, the appreciation of what victorhood really meant. What it was truly for. And Alecta is determined to show them all – to achieve this and finally know. 

One of them will win. Not a question of if either, but simply which. 

What is their district token?

A lucky rabbit’s foot.

Three strengths and three weaknesses.

(+) courageous, clever, ambitious

(.) traditional and proud

(-) merciless, smug, entitled

PENNED BY: LENA

[thecapitolvoice]

I think a hot new trend following this arena is going to be painting a blood red A on your face. Or maybe embroidering it on clothes? Innovative and original and clearly has never been done before.

one thing about me, i am ALWAYS gonna support carving your initials into your enemy's face

[cordeliaculm]

Cordelia ran desperately into one of the crumbling buildings, doing everything she could to run away from the gas that threatened to burn at her throat. She hadn't been able to snatch a fucking gas mask away from Mason so she knew it couldn't be good. Her head swam, her throat tightening up as she crawled in through a window to the theater. The building reeked of mildew and rot, as if it had been left to sit for decades. On the other side she saw a more than welcomed sight. "Alecta," She called out, her voice hoarse. She then coughed, covering her face with her arm. "Are you okay?" She asked stumbling in her approach.

@alecta-beckwourth

[submissivefeminist]

@doctorshelf I do not. Do you recommend them?

[courtney-ganhador]

@alecta-beckwourth

It was with measured breaths that Courtney considered his options. His whole left side was smarting from his fight with the bodega cat and the heavy fall he had taken. He was out of antiseptic wipes, having used them to clean the wounds. His legs still supported him, though, and that was something - even if he was without the key to whatever treasure Caspian would find.

The day was rapidly coming to a close, and nighttime could be an ideal time to move. Others would feel worried, perhaps, that the Gamemakers had something up their sleeves for the darkness, and perhaps they would. He could make his way back to the science center, as he had promised Prairie. He could find a place to sleep for a few hours, and hope no one found him. Or...

Trying to stay in the long shadows despite the darkness of the night, Courtney made his way back to the glass Cornucopia. He didn't have huge hopes; the Careers certainly would have picked it clean after the Bloodbath and the subsequent day. But even then, there was only so much they could carry. Something useful had to have been left behind, right?

He crept forward carefully, now theoretically exposed but for the cover of the moonlight. There wasn't much; a ripped messenger bag, a small bag of sling stones without a sling, a javelin that was missing its tip. Perhaps closer into the fountain there would be better loot.

[sarccphagus]

ALECTA & CYRIL MOODBOARD. 133.

"My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me. "Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak. "What are you thinking of? What are you thinking? What? "I never know what you are thinking. Think." — T.S Eliot

I love you like a rotten dog. I love you like my canines are falling out of my gums, Like a monster, like a beast Like something not worth loving back

Don’t you realize our bodies could fall apart at any second? I am terrified your body could fall apart at any second (Those are you got some nice shoulders) (I'd like to put my hands around them) When we dance (That’s not what I meant to say at all) When we dance (I mean, I’m sick of meaning, I just wanna hold you) — Body, Carseat Headrest

[gemmarosewater]

The city was sleek, quiet. He was sure he could hear his fellow tributes' breaths as the countdown commenced and they all looked around them. But he didn't waste too much time on his surroundings, only enough to see that it was a city with towering buildings. He could get his bearings later, but right now, the objective was the Cornucopia. Ideally the Careers could secure it, stay here rather than fleeing elsewhere, but he knew that hadn't happened in ages. The other tributes always swarmed and made it too difficult; easier just to find another home base with as much as you could grab and bring with you.

When the countdown ended, he hit the pavement running and was one of the first to splash his way through the fountain and jump up into the Cornucopia. Everyone could see everything, and it was a bit disconcerting for a moment. He spotted a hunting knife, just a small but extremely effective weapon to have, and he reached for it; but his slight distraction at the oddity of a glass Cornucopia meant that his movements were slow, he hadn't quite looked around him, and he felt someone else reaching for the same item. He looked up and locked eyes with Alecta.

There was a moment where he could have backed off. But this was a moment for power to be established and dynamics to be rehashed. He didn't want to be on the bottom of the Career Pack, and as the odd man out, he knew that he had to take a stand: now. So he snarled, "It's mine," and grabbed the knife.

@alecta-beckwourth

[mack-montresor]

"Are you certain that's correct?" Alecta inquired, all toying malice, watching Hart sort edible roots. It seemed unlikely they'd be anywhere that required them chewing on plant stems, especially given that the most-recent arena was nature-based, increasing the likelihood that this one would be conceptual or man-made. But she supposed it never hurt, and the survival stations were a good place for outer district runts to hide. "Actually, let's play a game. You give me a number -- one to ten -- on how confident you really are in your sorting."

@hart-harriman

[roachiefartsncrafts]

alecta doodle page

[maytheoddshq]

Alecta Beckwourth. District One. Score: NINE.

PROLOGUE: INTRODUCTIONS

  “Alecta Beckwourth. District One.”

  I. LAYING PLANS

  War was a grave matter. Severe. Not something to engage in without adequate consideration. One must critically appraise their odds of victory. One must contemplate alternative routes and measures. One must not deviate from these calculations, lest they fail by way of their own negligence. Alecta’s plans were long laid, gone awry only with Cyril’s presence, but she would not lose. She would not die.

  II. WAGING WAR

  Success required winning decisive engagements quickly. Alecta’s greatest challenge, of course. She was not keen on keeping herself in reserve, nor on holding her tongue. What glory was there in limiting competition and conflict? In playing coy and cordial? So she’d challenged the best: coaxed Montgomery onto the mat, acquired the confidence of Rio, earned the attention of Cress. And she’d made clear her superiority over the other tributes – Courtney, and Prairie, and Ripley. What was a game without competition? Perhaps she could have been more palatable, and that was a double-edged sword, wasn’t it? A pleasant woman was rarely a feared one. What recourse would that leave her? To play the innocent? To permit herself to be underestimated? To be the only woman among a Career Pack of men, and to be pitied by them? The thought disgusted her. Repulsed, Alecta stepped to the simulator, picking up the first weapon from the rack within. A sword. She flourishes it, catching her reflection in its polished blade. Gorgeous. Deadly.

  III. ATTACK BY STRATAGEM

  The source of strength was not in size, but in unity. An alliance of five was not necessarily the largest one to occur within any given arena, but there had not been a Career Pack with such potential – such power and talent – in years. And if it was cohesion that would win the fight, then there was no denying the synchronicity between her and Cyril – and perhaps that also present with Cordelia. Allies, spies…their true identities would be revealed soon. Alecta turned the dial on the simulator. Easy. Standard. Hard. Expert. If there had been something above that, she would have chosen it, but she’d worry about inventing that after achieving victorhood.

  IV. TACTICAL DISPOSITIONS

  Maintain footholds. Defend existing positions. Do not give the enemy opportunities. When you see one, strike. Alecta positioned herself so that there was no space for an attack from behind. Instead of raging ahead at the first sight of a foe, which would have led her into a vulnerable state at the center of the simulation chamber, she toed the line, stalking defensively to draw them forward. And good thing, for as it became clear she would not fall for a lure, more holograms appeared from the seams, unfurling from their hiding places. Two. Then three. Then six. Alecta rolled her neck, stretching, releasing the tension on her cervical spine. Patience. Let them come. The first ran, broaching battle, striking the first match. Where Alecta had refused to give up her stronghold, this first hologram now crossed, and she welcomed them to her web, carefully spun. The blade cut through its core like butter, slicing smoothly through code. It ran another step or two before its torso slid from its hips, collapsing into nothing onto the floor.

  V. USE OF ENERGY

  And then, Alecta turned. Her back to the holograms, she surveyed the weapons rack again, placing the sword firmly back into its holder, which was just below eye level. There, in the blade, where she saw herself moments earlier, she was now watching the hoard of holograms taking aim, inching closer. Creativity in timing – the wiser cousin of patience. Alecta feigned distraction, leveraging the reflection to duck as cybertronic throwing stars hurdled toward her back. They ricocheted off the rack, and she reached for a spear, turning fluidly, releasing it, watching it pierce the hologram now that it had disposed of its ammo. It sputtered and vanished. She didn’t bother to watch, as it had rudely interrupted her original task. Alecta lifted an ax from the wall. A little unrefined for her tastes, but sturdy. More than enough to get the job done.

  VI. WEAK POINTS AND STRONG POINTS

  A later translation of the original Chinese text would change this chapter to Illusion and Reality. Alecta rejected this interpretation. Perhaps it would work for others from One, like Cress, who played games with smoke and mirrors. She was sharper than that, dabbling only in the concrete, remaining fluid through it. The core tenants supported her claim: that despite shifting landscapes of battle, one must move through them or suffer. Accommodate without falling prey. Like now: the four remaining holograms approached, but a fifth had appeared in the rafters, crouched high above. It pounced the same time the others lunged, and Alecta had to forfeit her foothold or face the consequence of rigidity. She inhaled, shifting onto the balls of her feet. Light. Lithe. She dodged the drop of the hologram from above, harnessing the force of inertia, the physics of her moving form and the weapon altering its weight, rotating to swing into its side. Then out, back into another’s head, and then forward once more, into an arm. She pulled it out, swung hard down, into neck, leaving the blade as its new holder – the hologram’s body – slumped to the floor.

  VII. MANEUVERING AN ARMY

  Direct conflict was a risk, though. Most avoid it, finding the consequences outweigh the potential odds of success. But when it is forced upon you, the only choice is to respond (as even retreat – or worse, surrender, were choices too). Alecta went to reach for the next weapon. A trident. But a hologram had taken advantage of the chaos and wormed between her and the weapons rack. She frowned, huffing in annoyance. Hand to hand was supposed to be her finale. But Alecta could adapt. Hadn’t she already? Things change. Like Cyril being here. These things didn’t diminish her talent – they didn’t make her any less good. So Alecta acquiesced, caught between two holograms, watching them close in from either side.

  VIII. VARIATIONS OF TACTICS

  As they lunged for her, she leapt up, pushing up until she could dig her heels into their silhouetted necks. She slid down onto one, on its shoulders, a thigh on either side of its neck and head, grasping its jaw and head as she settled. A quick crack – a snap to the side, just far enough past to break its neck – and the collapse of its form brought her down onto the other. They fell onto the floor, Alecta’s hands coiling around its neck, feeling the electricity reverberate from her palms and up into her core. It had no lungs, no need to breathe, and still, she choked it until it fell limp. The firmness of the hologram dissipated with its death, dissolving almost immediately into nothing, leaving her knelt on the floor. 

  IX. THE ARMY ON THE MARCH

  The three that remained moved like water, free-flowing and smooth. Alecta stood, taking the bow and three arrows from the rack. When she turned to take aim, the holograms were gone. She nocked the arrow, drawing it back on the string, stepping carefully along the perimeter. On the march, an army can face any number of encounters when in enemy territory. One must anticipate and predict intention. Where would your enemy wait? Why hide in the first place? Alecta considered this. Why would they be programmed to have drawn back on her now, and in such unison? She paused, recognizing the trap at hand. The desire to lure her to the center, wherein they could obtain a tactical advantage. The simulator had its holograms working together, cohesive in their attack. 

  X. CLASSIFICATION OF TERRAIN

  So Alecta leveraged the terrain to stay a step ahead. She tucked the arrow back in its holster, slung over her shoulder, before she began to scale up to the beams to the platforms above. But she didn’t stop there. Higher, higher, Alecta inched her way up to the rafters. From there, it was crystalline: the three holograms, glowing from behind beams, hidden, waiting for her to appear beneath. She smirked, re-nocking, drawing an arrow back before releasing, letting it cause deadly harm.

  XI. THE NINE SITUATIONS

  The arrow hit its first target, though not fatally. It did, however, alter the other two to her position. She drew back and up, using shadows to conceal her as they scattered. In this situation, one must respond systematically. Look for the wounded, the confused, the stragglers on the outskirts. Pick off their weak. Then find their stronghold. Alecta drew back another arrow, finishing the job, gifting the injured hologram with a final blow to the eye, freeing her energy to hunt the others down. Time to take the remainder of the terrain. Time to force defeat or claim their surrender. 

  XII. ATTACK BY FIRE

  Alecta slid back down from the rafters to the platforms and onto the mat. Tossing the bow and remaining arrow aside, she took the throwing knives from the rack. Her weapons of choice. Two holograms left. Except when she turned to finish them with one knife each, there were more than two forms. More than ten, even. She sucked in air. The simulator offered no way to leverage the elements or environment, sterile as it was. In the arena, she’d herd them, wrangle them with fire or lure them into deadly currents. Trap them with a mutt or crush them with snow. Here, she had only physical force. 

  “What is this even simulating? All of the outer district tributes unionizing in the arena?”

  XIII. USE OF SPIES

  The next few minutes were a blur of code and steel. The clock was ticking down dangerously low, and Alecta hadn’t factored in for a last-minute surprise. But battles weren’t all won with surefire seizure at the finish line. There were only two throwing knives, but with the hoard closing in, she was able to use them each twice: two plunged into stomach and chest before being thrown farther, landing square between eyes. The detour was going to serve her, one way or another. There were more weapons she wouldn’t have gotten to otherwise, after all. And that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To show off? To prove that she could use anything? That she could kill with just her own claws if it came to it? A trident, thrown. A mace, brought down brutally, turning a chest concave. Alecta worked her way through the rack, letting the refuse remain where the bodies had disappeared, or disposing of them herself back onto the floor. Eventually, with seconds left, Alecta had her way: her feral finale. She had the last hologram on its back, its face in her hands, forcefully lifting it up from the mat and smashing it back down repetitively. Over and over, until the code of it collapsed and caved, crushed like skull, and at last, as it sputtered and vanished, Alecta was alone. 

  EPILOGUE

  Unscathed, Alecta stepped out of the simulator, drawing her form up proudly before dipping down in a grandiose bow. “Thank you for your consideration.” It was formal. Traditional. She lingered a moment longer, jaw held high. And then she turned, chest puffed as she exited the room. One battle won. One more victory in the art of war. Gorgeous. Deadly. 

[thecapitolvoice]

Do you think Alecta is effectively utilizing girl power in the Arena?

first of all, we have a woman president, we don't need girl power.

second of all, yes, but i'd prefer more murder.

pls just get rid of ken cyril

[cordeliaculm]

They were supposed to meet up, after they solved their stupid puzzles, and reclaimed the prize. She walked through the mall, arms crossed over her chest as she made her way through the food court. "Alecta?" Cordelia called out, listening carefully for the other Tribute. She knew she had to be around here somewhere she just couldn't quite find her. "Alecta, come on, I don't want to like stab you if you jump out in front of me," Cordelia shouted, her voice echoing throughout the complex.

@alecta-beckwourth

[courtney-ganhador]

@alecta-beckwourth

While Courtney had no problem being from District Ten, he hated having the number branded on his bicep like a beacon. He was busy taking out his frustration on a punching bag, trying his best to use it as a shield to keep his form out of sight from the rest of the Tributes, and acutely aware that the viewing gallery for Sponsors and Mentors saw all.

He was by no means a trained boxer, but growing up with younger siblings had taught him how to throw a punch or two, and the repetitive motion of fist against bag kept him in a semi-sane mindset as others around him trained in various ways to kill him. And of course, it was then that One approached him. He glanced up for a moment before piling into the punching bag, grunting with the effort and hoping she'd leave him alone - but sensing she would not.