'I don't wanna die, I sometimes wish i'd never been born at all' -Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen
He's the Capitol's Golden boy, she's the famous child of a Victor...
-Finnick Odair X female oc
-pre Hunger Games -> Mockingjay part 2
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It's kind of nerve wracking to stand before the gamemakers for any tribute but for Lyra, the child of a Victor, it was even worse.
Usually the gamemakers are semi-interested in watching the tributes, usually only focusing on the Career Pack but as soon as she walked in, all eyes were watching her every movement.
Her mother had won, her sister had not, they didn't have the chance to see her older brother, what would Lyra Holland accomplish?
She held her head high and kept her shoulders back, walking over to the tridents with the confidence expected of her.
Grasping a trident in her hand, she welcomed the weight of the weapon like it's an extension of her arm.
She stands on a long rectangular platform, the simulation especially designed for the gamemakers to see you fight moving targets.
A small tablet rises from the ground in front of her. She put the settings on hard and pressed enter, a few clicks are heard as the screen descends back into the ground. Then all the lights go off except one bright white one above her head.
Breathe in, breathe out.
As Lyra takes a deep breath, she adjusts her grip on the metal and it felt natural. She hated that. It shouldn't feel natural to a seventeen year old to be holding a deadly weapon.
Pushing the thoughts to the back of her mind, she forced her eyes to focus on the target running at her.
She sliced the stomach of one green hologram, decapitated another, stabbing one in the back and another she knocked to the floor with her legs before stabbing them through the chest.
Heart racing with adrenaline, legs pounding with energy, arms stretching with the sharp movements, she moved in small, swift, and agile actions almost like it was a dance. A light layer of sweat caused the short strands of hair at the front of her face to stick to her forehead and cheeks.
She threw her trident at an incoming holographic man. It soared through the air with elegance but clear force before colliding with the last threat as it broke into small cubes, crumbling to the ground in a satisfying pile of green rubble before disappearing.
Satisfied with what she had achieved, the redhead turns to leave, but not before sending the gamemakers a nod of acknowledgment. It was a bold move to leave without permission but it seemed to bode well for her as the gamemakers were left pondering the performance of the Victor's child.
The Head Gamemaker smirked as he watched her leave, thrilled with the idea that there could be a Victor of a Victor leaving the arena this year; the Capitol would love that... Coriolanus Snow would love that.
—
Sitting on the couch with her legs crossed beneath herself as she waited anxiously for their assessment results, Lyra picked at her fingers until a weight shifts beside her and takes her hands in their own. She turns her head to see Darlene send her a soft smile.
Lyra glanced down at her hands and read the tattoo on her left wrist, "Darla?" Darlene hummed in response. "What's this tattoo for?" she asked.
"The date?", Lyra nods. "It's the date I got married, dear."
"You're married?" Lyra redirects her eyes to the silver ring on the woman's left hand. She'd assumed it was an engagement ring but it must've been one of those 'multipurpose, both marriage and engagement' rings. "Who's the lucky person?" Lyra asked, seeking conversation to keep her anxious thoughts at bay.
"Leona," the woman smiles softly, her eyes holding a loving glint.
Lyra thinks about it for a second as she matches names to faces of her prep team before realising, "with the cool snake tattoos?"
Darla laughed as Lyra smiled, "yes, that's my love. She keeps me on my toes, that's for sure. I actually did those tattoos."
"You did?" Darlene nods proudly.
Before either can say anything else, Finnick comes in through the front door. "Where in Panem have you been Finnick?! Results are in a few moments!"
The irritatingly high pitched voice of Havana Whiffe enters the room and interrogates the boy.
Analysing the boy, Lyra notices his change in demeanour. His shoulders are tense and, although he has his signature smirk displayed on his face, his eyes are tired. "You want an exact location or...?"
Havana huffs, "just sit, sit!"
Finnick takes the last seat, the one between Lyra and Dylan, on the long couch. He still doesn't seem to allow himself to relax even now he's sat down. Lyra does start to wonder where he has been. It's late, the sky outside is dark though the Capitol is still busy; the Capitol never sleeps and, from what Lyra has seen, neither does Finnick.
Dylan scores an eight, receiving a pat on the back by Havana. Lyra scores an eleven. She couldn't help but think whether it's because of her performance or her status though.
Finnick congratulates the two with a smirk on his face that he never seems to lose before retreating to his room.
Lyra does the same moments later. She hears the shower turn on as she passes his room. She has a warm shower with a mixed berry scent, allowing the Capitol technology to dry her body and hair when she exits, and changes into a pair of fluffy pyjama shorts and a sports bra. She climbs into bed despite knowing it'll be hours before she falls asleep and, even then, it's inevitable that her sleep will be plagued by nightmares. She'd give anything for a dream once in a while.
Her mind runs faster than she can handle. Tomorrow would be split in two parts. In the morning, Havana would teach her how to 'be a lady' (fun—note the sarcasm) and in the afternoon, Finnick would work with her on interview contents. After that, she'll have some food, be done up like a doll by her prep team, and dressed like a goddess by her stylist. And then, in the evening, would be their interviews with Caesar Flickerman.
Then the following day, she'd be sent into the arena. To fight or die.
