deadlyjuliet | ♥5 [action -> audio]

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♥5 [action -> audio]

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[For those in the town square this fine day, they may find a red blur falling out of the sky and straight into the fountain with a loud scream and a crash. Grell is back in Luceti, looking like a drowned rat, and none too pleased to be here.]

WHY CAN'T YOU LEAVE ME SOMEWHERE RATIONAL?!

[Voice]

...Does anyone know where I can find a good hair product? That bloody fountain seems to have ruined my beautiful locks and since I can't blow that thing up, I may as well take care of this.

And for those who are wondering? Yes, the parlour is still going up. Even if kills me. Or one of you.

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Always? [Well, that is quite the conviction.]

Until the bitter, tragic end, hm?

Well, not--

What?

Oh....nothing. Mere speculation since you seem so inclined towards this man.

He's... a friend. We met a few years ago and just... stuck together. Even in the Arena.

Oh, come now, that's so boring. Brother in arms, role model, something, anything is better than "a friend for whom I may or may not die for no special reason." There must be something, no?

...Yeah. There is. Let me just...

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Okay, so it's not the best filter in the world. She's still learning. Not bad for someone without much exposure to technology.]

I used to think we'd get married, okay? It was dumb. Probably childish. But... it was nice to think about.

Oh, you see? Now there is the story we all want to hear!

Romanticism is never childish, my dear, poor Clove. It's the passion in one's heart that pushes one to great heights and even greater glory! Sooo, tell me about him! Come now, perhaps we can still make this dream of yours a reality.

He's... amazing.

He's been right there to protect me, ever since we met. But... after the Games... [No. No, she has to explain.]

Panem, where I'm from... has this thing every year. The Hunger Games. The Districts rebelled, Capitol won. In repayment, every year, the twelve districts offer up a boy and girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen. They get thrown into an arena together with weapons, supplies, and creatures.

Only one survives-- the victor.

My year. When they got it down to six. They announced that two tributes could go home. If they were from the same district. The only pairs left then were me and Cato, and the two from Twelve.

I... got stupid. And Cato was killed eventually, too. [No propaganda here. No justifications. Nothing. Just a somewhat hurried rundown of everything. Because it matters to her point.]

Cato is strong and brave. Utterly fearless. And he always took care of me in the arena. Even before he had any reason to.

But... since he came here... He doesn't seem... I don't know. He doesn't seem to want to fight. And I get it. But... I have to. I have to be fighting. Or I'm not worth anything.

He'll... he'll get tired of that. If he can leave the blood behind and I can't... he won't want anything to do with me, soon.

...And I've rambled. Sorry.

[Well, that was quite the information spew. Grell takes the time to listen to the post a few times over, recording in writing what Clove has to say. Interesting data to have, and the thought of games fought by children? Barbaric, but effective at quelling uprisings again if an area thinks their children aren't safe. After taking notes, Grell shuts the second journal.]

Well, it has always been the two of you, always alone so you only had one another. Who is to say you can't find someone else here? Someone who might...better understand your desire and need for bloodshed?

Or is it that the heart simply can't let go of what it knows is no longer what it needs?

[Clove has adopted the policy in Luceti to tell as much as she can about Panem in one sitting. Dragging out the conversation... no. She prefers to describe the Games and be done with it.]

Maybe I can't let go. But I... don't want to. I went into the arena knowing that I'd have to kill Cato or let him die to get to go home. I was okay with that.

But I knew I wouldn't get married if that happened. I... guess it's still the same thing.

If I can't have him -- If he doesn't want me, here -- I'd rather be alone.

Ah so it is a case of the latter. I see. [Grell sighs and runs a hand through the mess of red hair.]

Well, I can't say your story isn't one for the ages - a tragedy made all the more poignant by your affections, all the more heartbreaking because neither of you survive.

However, you're sixteen. Come now, child, don't you think you're selling yourself a bit short? One man won't love you, so you just throw your life and love down forever? Take it from someone who has lived centuries - it shall get better, if you wish it to do so.

It's-- not love.

Lover Boy. The boy from Twelve. That's love. He almost died for the girl, even before they changed the rules. He would have let her kill him. So she could go home.

Cato and me? If it had come down to it and only one of us could live, we'd have stained the ground with blood.

That's not love.

Oh, there are so many types of love in the world, dear. It's simply that the self-sacrificing type garners so much more attention than the other, far more exciting, far more interesting ones.

After all, one man I love at home? I love him because he's as cold as the Arctic Sea and would kill me in a heartbeat - if only he had a heart. [Sigh. Sebastian~♥] And would I kill him? Most certainly, without question, and with only the smallest regret that we never had that one wild fling together.

So don't sell your fledgling affections short, darling. Perhaps you simply have a more complicated love than others.

And that's... It's still love?

They don't really talk about love where I'm from. Not with the athletics, at least. So all I ever really heard about was... If I heard about love, it was that whole thing about self-sacrifice.

Which... It's kind of... It's something else. Seeing that in action.

Ahn, and there is the failing of your educational system, my dear dear Clove.

I shall admit... It can be such a stirring thing to see. Laying down one's life for love of another. The tragedy of one lover dying, leaving the other to go on forever alone, bereft of their warmth! The decision to die together, even, bleeding intertwined, locked in the last embrace, silently conveying the passions of the heart! Words unsaid! Deeds undone! A future lost so another may be gained!

Ah, but love can be so much more complex than simply sacrificing yourself for another and calling it a day. Better that your affections run so deep that you simply cannot imagine a world where you must make the other suffer the loss of you. The guilt of having let you die so he may live, it can crush a man's soul, leaving him a bitter husk of remorse. Or worse, your sacrifice goes unnoticed. No mourning, no tears shed. You die and he goes on, uncaring, unmarred by your most pitiful death. No, it is far better to ensure that your love remains as passionate and poignant as the day you first kissed, and drive the bitter, lovelorn knife into their heart instead. Holding them tenderly as the Holy Light leaves their eyes, letting them know that it is better this way, that your heart shall have only ever belonged to them and theirs to you...

Which is the more noble sacrifice? To die and be in ignorance or to live and remember all this aching pain?

[Clove is silent.

As Grell speaks of love and loss and death, she's back in the Arena.

She hears the gong. The bloodbath is a blur. Boy Seven has a stave. He swings at her. She dives low, still running. Down to her knees. A vest. Knives. One out, thrown. Sinks into Boy Seven's chest. First cannon of the Games. A melee all around. Another boy -- distracted. Knife in his back. District Twelve. Knife. She blocks it, runs with the pack it's buried in. More blood, more death. The last non-Career -- Girl Ten -- dies at Cato's sword. Rest are scattered. The cornucopia is secured.

Others died, but the blood only came back when the tracker-jackers attacked. The hallucinogenics in their venom made her see blood everywhere, nearly choke on it.

Cato had been by her side through it all.

She would have killed Cato to win -- to live. BUt not... what she's talking about. Somehow, three distracted words escape.]

I died first.

Oh, how disappointing. I was hoping you would have survived a little longer.

Perhaps it's simply time to broaden our horizons then, hm? The parade of eligible bachelors here is never-ending after all.

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