Oceana Ridgeway ❦ Annie Cresta (reverence) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2017-09-14 23:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, * terri, c: oceana waters |
WHO: Oceana Ridgeway --> Annie Cresta. Brief mentions of Finnick and an appearance by Caesar Flickerman.
WHEN: BACKDATED - Evening September 13, 2017
WHERE: Dance Studio --> The Capitol in Panem
SUMMARY: Oceana is working out some stress and has a memory.
WARNINGS: Nothing major? Other than general Hunger Games feels.
There was usually a stillness around the dance studio at this time of the day when all the classes had ended. Parents and students alike had filtered out some two hours ago, and the cheerful welcome sign on the door had been flipped around to inform bypassers that the studio would reopen tomorrow. The lights in the office were dimmed, and the walls absorbed the pulsing sound of the stereo before it could leak out into the quiet city beyond. The only thing that resonated louder than the music pumping through the speakers was her heartbeat. The rapid thud behind her ribs kept her steady, even as she dragged in a deep, even breath. Her fingers curled and relaxed on the exhale of another breath, her eyes closed even as she swayed gently to the music that was meant to drown out everything else. She was attuned to her body, and she knew that she couldn’t put much more strain on herself. The press of the brace around her knee was a reminder she couldn’t have ignored. Since closing the door, the hands on the clock had ticked from seven to nine. In that time she had been repeating this same cycle, but the stretch in her muscles and the perspiration clinging to her skin was a relief. If she hit a point of exhaustion, but not a place of pain, she would be right where she needed to be. The track on the stereo ended before it picked up again on the same loop. Oceana took slow breath, her eyes flickering open even as her body began to pick up those practiced movements. The number and hold counts that she’d internalized to herself at the beginning had faded away, her movements flowing from one to the next. The music picked up, and so did the movements of her feet, the contouring of her body in perfect rhythm to the melody. The bass reverberated in her chest even as she made a leap with a half rotation, sinking to the wooden floors upon the landing, her love for the contemporary style blending with her classical training. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror, but didn’t dare look long as that music turned her into an instrument of expression. The bends and stretches as she took back to her feet were longing, reaching, trying to pull something to her that wasn’t anymore and perhaps never was. Her movements blended, and Oceana’s mind quieted for a moment as she spun into a pirouette. Her breath slowed, and the crackle of a microphone startled her. The Capitol’s pageantry had always been somewhat senseless to Annie, but the had to do their bidding, there on the stage with the bright lights shining down on her. They’d stuffed her into a seafoam green dress, to bring out her eyes, but it hugged her body so tightly she had little room to actually walk. Mermaid style, they’d called it, as they’d intricately painted shimmering blue, green, pink, and purple scales onto her arms and cheek. Her hair was pulled back, coiffed into a net that was supposed to represent the ones she’d woven all of her young life. “W-what?” Her voice was meek, but she couldn’t remember the request. “Oh, darling, you’re so quaint. Give us a spin! Come on!” She could barely walk, much less spin, but her eyes darted to one of the only people in this whole damn city that she trusted. Finnick was watching her more intently than she would have thought. He mouthed something she couldn’t hear or decipher, but she saw his subtle gesture, two fingers pointed down with an obvious twist. So she was going to do this… She took a deep breath and slowly, carefully turned, her feet shuffling in the heels that she was unaccustomed to. The crowd applauded and awed over her, though she hadn’t done anything particularly special. The next thing she knew, she’d been guided to sit down, and the ridiculous Caesar Flickerman was leaning in close as though this were an intimate conversation and not a highly televised one, “Tell us, Annie, what would it mean for you to win the Hunger Games this historic 70th year?” She tried to ignore how the glitter on her skin shimmered too brightly in the spotlights and how the false lashes on her eyes made it feel like twice the effort just to blink, “Everything,” she answered finally. She wasn’t a thrilling contestant, and she knew that. She had training behind her. She had skills, but that was for the sake of survival, not glamor. ”You need sponsors. Don’t forget to smile.” Finnick’s voice rang in her mind, and she shook her head slightly, clearing her throat, and plastering what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her painted lips, “What I mean by that...is the cost of losing is too high a price to pay. Winning is everything because I want to bring pride to my District, and I still have a lot of living to do.” “Do you, now?” Caesar cackled delighted, his eyes shimmering as he hummed and asked, “You are playing coy, Miss Cresta. Is there, perhaps, someone you want to live to a ripe old age with?” She suppressed the immediate image that came to mind, knowing that it likely would never be, but she smiled winningly anyway, her eyes flickering out to the crowd as though she had a secret they all wanted to hear, “You’ll have to ask me again on my Victory Tour, Caesar. Until then, my lips are sealed.” Blinking again, she saw herself flickered in the mirror, again and again, until she stepped out of form, stopping herself in turn. There was a pit in the bottom of her stomach even as she stepped forward. Her eyes were the same caramel and chocolate tones that they always had been, but she couldn’t shake whatever her mind had just fabricated for her. She took a deep breath even as her hands trembled. Had she worked herself so tirelessly that she hallucinated? It felt different than that. It felt like something she’d forgotten until now. It took five steps for her to turn off the stereo, and another half-dozen to grab her bag from a nearby hook. She needed a soak in her tub, and with any hope it would be long enough to prune her fingertips and toes. Surely she had spent enough time in the studio tonight, and the problems that she’d had before were certainly quieted in the back of her mind. Oceana had more pressing issues to consider now, like the uncertain state of her sanity. |