Achilles Held, District 1 (![]() ![]() @ 2014-04-27 21:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! wrap up, victor: 34th achilles held |
Who: Achilles Held, mentions of other D1
When: Reaping of the 60th Games
Where: District 1
What: A Reaping that doesn't go his way.
Rating: Medium
Status: Narrative, complete.
When it happens, his heart stops. Only for a moment, of course, but it still stops. Skips a beat. Malfunctions for a split second. Call it what you will, but hearing the name Katerina Held expressed in an uncharacteristic gasp from Cabernet is not something Achilles ever expected to hear. It wasn't something he feared, either, not like Victors from outlier districts might fear it. In the moment between hearing her name called as the Reaped tribute for District One, his heart stops. It starts again, a moment later, when a crisp, confident voice rings out above the still crowd: "I volunteer as tribute!" Achilles's line of sight, which had been steeled above the crowd, cold and calm, darts to the stunning and shimmering young woman, Cashmere, he remembers, making her way out of the crowd and to the front. He realizes his daughter hadn't even taken a step from where she stood with the other fourteen-year-olds, before Cashmere volunteered. There is never a moment, even when he stopped functioning properly, that he thinks his daughter will be tribute this year. Of course there is a volunteer. When was the last time One hadn't had a volunteer? The atmosphere in the crowd is tense, but Cashmere plays off it, smiling, as she gives Cabernet her name and curtsies prettily to the crowd, a smile brightening her face. When she turns to take her place and wait while One Reaped a male tribute, she catches Achilles eye. He nods at her, refusing to betray anything steaming inside of him, welcoming her to the Games. The quickness of his breath, the tightening of his jaw, the pressure of his fingertips on the insides of his arms where he had them crossed, the heaviness of his feet on the stage -- from the audience Achilles appears no different than any other Reaping. To his fellow Victors, however, he looks like a man who had seen his own ghost. The Reaping doesn't end soon enough, but when it does, Achilles is the first to explode off the stage. He holds his breath until he manages a moment alone in a darkened corridor. There, he exhales, gasping, and pounds a clenched fist against the wall hard enough to crack it and bruise his knuckles. There is no reason he ever had to hear her name like that. No reason to panic. She would never set foot in the arena. He knows that. She knows that. His wife knows that. Still. It is too close, and he can't shake the heat of his blood coursing in his veins or the sound of his daughter's name throbbing in his ears. Cashmere. Cashmere would win this year. Achilles isn't a mentor, but he would make damn sure it happened. He will do anything to bring her home alive. Anything. |