#divinity is just another name for leader ( devora. )

[clemencetaught]

round and round ( @devangelis bc i must always have at least one thing to gib lynnie jfskldjf )

"So you made it to the other side." It's an observation rather than a congratulations. She probably gets more than enough of those from the Capitol anyways. "...I had a feeling you would end up the victor."

[clemencetaught]

devora. ➜ IF ONLY IT WERE THAT SIMPLE. In theory, given the right circumstances ( not weapons- Devora probably carries a knife on her somewhere. In the hands of a master, even a knife becomes deadly. ), Devora is more than capable of killing all the people in the room, Patrick included. Patrick might have won his games on the account of his cunning and sheer luck, but Devora won purely by skill. 

Even before she was announced as District One’s female tribute for the 55th Hunger Games, he knew with one glance at her from across the room- she was meant to become a Victor, meant to survive the bloodslaughter. He wasn’t one to believe in fate back then, but he just knew back then. The same way he knew when he met Hyuk they would become friends.

But whether she was born for it or built for it, it didn’t change the fact she took to role almost as naturally as a fish to water. Perhaps it was easier for her too- being born and trained for this lifelong title would have informed her at the very what the expectations of the Capitol would be for her. He had to learn the hard way.

A flash of concern crosses his face. She’s not happy- in fact, she’s more than unhappy and even angry.  And he’s seen her angry many, many times before both in public and private- they say that if Hyuk is a boiling pot of water without the lid, then she’s the pot with zero Kelvin degree water inside- it comes with knowing someone for years on end.  

Actually, if anything, she looks upset. A stone tumbles down his stomach- an angry Deva, he knows how to handle. Knows how to navigate like a seasoned fisherman in the ocean. An upset Deva- that’s…uncharted territory and one that Patrick is wary of. If it’s enough to break through Deva’s seemingly flawless facade, then it can’t be anything good. 

However, it is a relief when she takes him up on his offer. At least for the next hour, he won’t have to deal well…let’s just say there’s a handful of people in that room he would prefer to avoid. 

( It doesn’t escape his attention though either, when they pass a certain AVOX serving hors d’oeuvres to the attendees. Devora’s gaze might not have lingered on her for long, but he senses her stiffen at his side. And the avox’s eyes on them too. )

The fresh air only provides a temporary sanctuary. No one would dare to approach them, thankfully- apparently selling the ‘it couple’ image does wonders for securing some sense of privacy. The other party attendees, Devora’s circle included, probably think they’re sharing an intimate moment. 

“You’re helping me just as much,” Patrick says simply. Does she know? About those people and how he met them? She must- none of the victors are that ignorant. They only pretend to be- it’s a coping mechanism. Better to play the fool than to be crushed by the truth. It’s smarter to look the other way; that’s what they all do, career victors especially with how they buy into the system, the promises of wealth and power that winning the games will fulfill. 

Although it seems that, Snow, one way or another, manages to find a way to control them all. But what Devora has explained- it makes sense and helps him put together the final pieces of the puzzle. The puzzle of why she seems even more intent on winning the hearts of the public and the approval of Snow even more these days. A victor doesn’t just suddenly become more zealous over the responsibilities of the title. If anything it’s the opposite. They’re more likely to shatter over time. Become shells of their former selves.

Concerned more than alarmed, he’s quick to rest a hand on Devora’s shoulder. Anger unbridled never ends well, even if the Capitol citizens are the ones to provoke it. “If you snap now, Aeri will be bearing the brunt of your actions,” he says, but not unkindly. “But I suppose…it makes sense. Why you’ve been pushing for the ‘it couple’ image between us.” From his pocket, he pulls out his cigarette pack and offers her one. Popping a stick in mouth, he removes his hand to light it. The smoke rises, languidly. “I remember her- I saw her whenever my stylists were giving me my outfits. She had a lot of strong opinions. Sometimes I thought her designs were better than what my stylists were suggesting.”

It adds up even more, with that in line. Even if Aeri and Devora are from a Career District, which is, in the Capitol’s eyes, favorable compared to his own, at the end of the day, they’re still both from the Districts. It makes sense then, the necessity of silencing Aeri aside with Snow finding a way to blackmail Devora. A mere district girl infiltrating and having influence in a circle and a business that belongs exclusively to the Capitol? Unthinkable.

Unacceptable. 

He takes the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling. A sympathetic look from him. Now is not the time for him to reveal his own predicament, but he gets it- the rage, the hopelessness, the despair that comes with being entangled in Snow’s manipulation. And with trying to protect another person.  “I’m sorry, Devora. It’s…it’s a tricky thing, protecting another person from Snow. He knows how to find people’s weaknesses.” He gives her eye contact for the briefest of moments. “Is she worth it? Everything you’re doing for her?”

Acting was never one of her known qualities. Before her games, the 55th, managing her image happened to be one of the most challenging part for her mentor. Devora was barely seventeen, living for the kill, elevated to the pedestal of the sanguine deity she was. How do we make you more... Relatable? More... human? Would question her mentor, question to which the young tribute had no answer to. Years have passed as she understood the likes and tricks of a stage like the Capitol a little more - even if her fires were still burning inside, Devora had learned to control them as she became an important, political figure. Human, she became that too. The reason behind her humanity was standing at the other side of this room of nightmares. Right this instant, in this celebration, every single fiber of her body was begging to crawl out of her skin and seize the blade that was hidden by her ankle to slice the throat of every single attendee of this goddamn venue. The love of her life was submitted to the wills of the guests, serving, playing waitress and slave while Devora was the one picking up hors d'oeuvre out of the avox's tray. Snow's most powerful mental game on her : the man knew too it was the only way he could have a full control on the powerful, quite menacing figure Devora became. If anything, it was the perfect situation to him : who knew what she would be capable of if she ever decided to rebel, to reverse the power, to betray her own camp - this way, Snow was keeping her right into the palm of his hand, just like everyone else. And in silence Devora watches the female avox walk away, enable to catch her by the arm, enable to apologize a thousand times, to kiss her, to leave everything behind, and run away with her. A torture. A prison. Patrick's presence suddenly calls her back as her eyes meet his. Devora has to focus, they are currently in a circle of attendees, watching her, eager to hear her thoughts on a matter she did not even care about. "Say the word, I put an end to it." Devora whispers in between her greeting teeth only for him to hear as he takes her closer. A mechanic smile raises on her lips again as she accepts the polite kiss on her head : it is all part of the act. No matter how difficult the performance could be, it somehow was reassuring as well. Devora was convinced that as long as she was playing the part of the perfect Capitol couple they were, the less eyes would notice her secret affair, how tense she happened to be around the female avox. "I was hopping you would ask. A little time together is exactly what I need right now, Darling." Devora then replies, with staged enthusiasm in her voice. "Will you please excuse us." Devora adresses to the circle around them, who naturally responded to a charming smile to the charming couple, who immediatly walked to the outside.

"Thank you for that. I was starting to lose my goddamn mind in there." Devora speaks on her regular tone, jaded, done and pressed, once they were free of all company. The gardens of the venue looked, as the rest of the Capitol, completely out of proportions, all over the top. In a way, even the outdoors in this golden hell were overwhelming, as if the air was impossible to breathe. Devora always was wearing extravagant attires to suite her image as a public figure, one that was shaped this wa : of elegant black and golden long gowns, like a royal. Her fingers were wrapping around her collar, pulling onto it in a sharp move, as if it became hard to breath in this one, pacing from left to right, putting a little bit of distance with Patrick. Her breathing pace was escalating while she was focusing not to completely lose it - out of anger, madness - not here, not today, not ever. It probably was the first time she would display such a version of herself to him - or to anyone - because there was only one situation that could make her lose her legendary composure : this one. "I have to tell you something. Someone I did not think I ever would tell anybody. I simply cannot take it anymore. I'm going to stab someone in the goddamn face if I have to go back in there-." She places the palms of her hands down the fountain, her head down, shoulders as well, breathing and out like an animal in rage.

"I'm with someone." Devora simply stated. It was the first time she ever shared this secret. She did know nobody could be trusted in the Capitol, nobody but herself. And well, Patrick, after all. She could trust him with her life. "She is in that room, right fucking now. Right under my eyes, so close to me - and I'm not allowed to talk to her, I'm not allowed to touched her, I'm not allowed to maintain eye contact with her more than thirty seconds. It's part of the contract" She's shaking her head, that slow shake from the head, out of displeasure, out of frustration. "God it's driving me crazy." Her tone isn't flat, how unusual for Devora. It it filled with frustration, and with an extreme sadness. "Her name is Aeri." The leader then adds, pronouncing her name with delicacy, a name only her has on her tongue as none of these Capitol assholes would treat her beloeved any differently than a slave. Straightening up, looking to the side, as if pensive. "She is being punished for a mistake I have committed years ago, Patrick. She's ... " She swallows hard; her features twisting into disgust. "She is being treated like a slave. Forced to serve us. Forced to pick up the crumbs of these self sufficient assholes who has NO respect for her whatsover. They don't even KNOW her name. FUCK-" She exclaims, the last word blurred out as this time, her eyes connect with his, eyes filled with blood, a crave for revenge, a crave to set this entire masquerage on fire once in for all, and pain.

"It's killing me."

[clemencetaught]

"No matter the battles we fight, it's side by side that we stand." From Deva.

this one definitely has standards :'D ( platonic bingo for patrick ( verse three ) w/ @uroborosymphony )

"Quite right too. If there is such thing as heaven and hell, our ride down there would come in a two-seater." He snorts, refusing to admit there is a certain...comfort that her presence provides. It's not one that say, Hyuk or Felicity has given him, one that brings him peace, but with Deva- it's companionship in the viper's nest. A comfort that makes the worst of circumstances...more bearable. "Now you wouldn't happen to have a cigarette on you, would you? I ran out on my commute over."

[clemencetaught]

POST - IT NOTE ! ( from Patrick to Deva )

when there is no paper one must learn to adapt ( post-it note meme w/ @uroborosymphony )

“Excuse yourself from the group half past nine and leave through the southwest exit. She’ll be on break for fifteen minutes.”

( Slipped into Deva's pocket while on the way to an event. )

“6 males and 4 females, all between ages 18-23. 74 is among them. Snow’s not happy; the council wants to put them all on the chopping block- will let you know if I find out anymore.”

( Slipped into Deva's notes. )

[clemencetaught]

@uroborosymphony sent in: #15 for Patrick, the victor || when the unspoken is named ( things you said prompt. )

15. things you said with rage between your teeth

"You can hear it too, can’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, seeing that they’re the only ones in the room, this minimalist styled sitting room decorated with accents of black and gold. A room that the president has oh so generously decorated with them in mind. If not for the accents, Patrick imagines this would be a room that fit in the president’s own mansion.

A room that, if Patrick had any say in it, would burn down never see the inside of again.

He doesn’t remove his coat or deposit it on the rack as he usually does. But he does take a seat next to her on the couch. Deva is only a few inches away from him and perhaps in another life, the distance would make him wilt for fear of pressing on unspoken boundaries. However, he pays little regard if only because they have known each other for years on end and when they have watched the same spectacle, when they have served the pigs that revel in their suffering, when they have endured it all for years on end, an issue of decorum becomes miniscule.

“They’re not happy. The Districts.”

They never have been, the murmurs of disgruntlement having always been there for as long as he could remember. How those murmurs have always grown a tad louder when the reaping came around, followed by the mandatory viewings.

( Or maybe they’ve always been loud to begin with, only muted like a television with its sound turned to zero. Only muted by the propaganda and the soundproof walls the Capitol throws over them. Or even bitten back, tongue bitten. )

This year however.  With the announcement of the condition of the Third Quarter Quell, they’re no longer murmurs of dissatisfaction. No, it’s grown into something louder, stronger.

Something like screaming.

Not even the walls can keep them out.

“As a reminder to the districts that their rebellion has robbed their children of  a future, for this Quarter Quell, the male and female tributes shall be reaped from the existing pool of twelve years old.”

“I take it that One and Two aren’t happy about this either?” He can’t imagine they are; for even if they pride themselves on participation in the Capitol’s gleeful slaughterhouse, they would not dream of sending out A CHILD sorely untrained to represent them.

District Three for sure, isn’t. He’s seen it for himself too- the uprisings in factories all throughout District Three accompanied by the public whippings, the censorship of radio stations, and the taser sessions for those refuse to show up for work. And if he hasn’t seen it himself, then Hyuk would make sure he knew, most likely being one of the many of instigate much of the dissent.

“I’ve been thinking.” The words come out clipped. “All these years, we’ve been slaves to his whims if only to keep the ones we love safe. He tells us if we do as he says, he won’t hurt them, he’ll let them live another day…but that’s a lie, isn’t it?” He leans forward, mouth covered by clasped hands. “He was never planning on keeping them safe. He’ll dangle their lives to wring us of all our use and once we have nothing left to give, he’ll throw them away along with us just like he has with everyone else. We’re not any better than the other victors; we’re just pawns to his board. And now because of our complacency, the children will pay the price to give our president his checkmate.” His hands tighten. “…I’m sick of it. I’m tired of being someone else’s chess piece.”

Eyes turn to her. They’re burning. “…What are your thoughts on playing A NEW GAME in the Capitol this year?”

[clemencetaught]

verse three -- the victor.

[clemencetaught]

round and round ( closed starter with @uroborosymphony )

“And here I thought the celebrations for this year’s games already ended.” Just as the veneer of a gentleman feels caked on his face, he almost cringes at the words the come out of his face. Yes, yes, they’re supposed to be the ‘it’ couple of the amongst the victors and maybe Devora does still buy into it, the riches and the power the Capitol promises those who win the games. But the honeyed words feel less like a greeting and more like an insult to his longtime…friend of sorts. Nevertheless, he kisses the top of her hand before tugging her closer. His mask drops for the briefest of seconds, a combination of apprehension and grimness revealing themselves in that moment.

He offers his arm to her. “Walk with me, won’t you? I won’t keep you from company for too long, my dear.”