Swift Atherold
Seventeen / District Five Victor

It takes all the willpower in the world to keep Swift from ducking under the nearest table and hiding.

He stands off to the side, clutching a bottle of water in a barely concealed shaking hand, frantically eyeing anybody who veers in his direction. He was never one for parties, he knows this now, so having yet another dedicated to his heroic win… well he wasn't doing so hot. Everybody keeps drifting towards him, wondering what he's been up to in the six months since his victory, and he just says… he's adjusting. Which, sure, maybe he was - but most of those six months were spent crying, being riddled with guilt, and laying in bed. And nobody needed to hear about that, not even his fellow Victors who have been there before and would understand perfectly (allegedly).

They— the other Victors, and also Capitolites (hell it was mostly the Capitolites)— were also wondering what his future plans were, now that he actually has the chance to live. What he was going to do with his newfound riches - what sort of big new thing was he going to do for his District as part of his Victor-ly duties? What was his life going to amount to?

… Lord if he knew. The uncertainty scares him. Lairus tells him he has his entire life ahead of him to figure it out, so why in the hell do people want answers now? But he tries to bite his tongue for Lairus, reels it in on the backtalk a bit because his mentor just never reacts the right way, he flinches and clams up the second somebody's tone is raised and Swift doesn't really like watching that. He's used to people snapping back. Plus, watching the man fifteen-some years his senior fold like origami isn't exactly the funnest thing to witness.

Swift uncaps his water and takes a slow sip, trying to keep his composure. The attention's making his skin crawl. The underside of a table looks really appealing right now…

Though, he had to admit this party seemed a lot more… upbeat. Maybe it was because this time around the idea of still being flesh and blood and very nuch not stuffed in a casket wasn't as hard for him to wrap his head around; or that this was yet another fun mandatory gathering of all Victors, just without the stakes of herding two scared kids into a death game.

Speaking of which, it didn't seem like any of them gave a single fuck about the eulogies he crafted for their fallen tributes. The speeches he slaved over for weeks, dreaded presenting, stressed himself out to the point of throwing up over? Didn't even matter. Not to them. But he had to tell himself he wasn't doing it for them, he was doing it for the families of the deceased and— and actually, he just did it because he had to. If it was up to him, he'd go hide in his new house for the rest of his life and never leave and never have to face his shame again.

Swift looks around and dashes under the nearest table, curling his knees up to his chest underneath it and pulling the chairs back into place, effectively creating a fort on all sides. The overhead lights don't reach under here, shielding himself in a layer of shadow and a cage of chairs, perfectly out of sight from any partygoers.

It takes less than a minute for somebody to find him.

Light, uneven footsteps approach, belonging to a pair of dress shoes, and stop dead in front of him. For a fleeting second, Swift hopes they might not even know he was there, but then they crouch down and stare at him from between the bars on the chairs.

District Seven's youngest Victor offers a slight smile at him. "I tried hiding here too, y'know."

Swift stares at him, trying really hard to deflect leaving his little fort. He ends up mumbling like a dog with something caught in its mouth. "Hi, Mr. Killian."

His smile falls. "Don't call me that."

"Nemorio…?" He tries, already growing agitated by this guy's presence.

"…Sure."

Nemorio looks around at the rest of the party, glancing quickly over his shoulder, then shoves the chair out of the way and ducks under the table next to him. Swift scoots out of the way as he props himself up next to him, putting the chair back into place.

"You got the right idea being under here, though," Nemorio murmurs, "I got into trouble for it last year."

"Why are you bothering me?" Swift glares at him.

He doesn't react, just gazes back blankly. "It's easier to take the fall with somebody else."

Swift doesn't respond to that. The fort had no room for the both of them; their arms and legs brush up against each other uncomfortably, and Swift is very aware of that fact. He pulls himself in tighter, curling his arm towards the other side of his body to avoid it. Nemorio won the year before him at fifteen years old, which made them both somewhere around seventeen now. Which… honestly, Swift couldn't care less about that.

Nemorio takes a deep breath in, startling Swift for a moment. "Can I give you some advice?"

"I don't want your advice." Swift growls.

Again, Nemorio doesn't waver, his expression is still unamused. But unlike Lairus, he's not breaking down because somebody got a little snappy, so… this is an improvement? Swift missed being a little snappy to somebody after feigning politeness for so long, it feels almost cathartic.

"You're not doing so hot," Nemorio admits to him. "You're doing a bad job at hiding it. If you're anything like I was last year, you need to hear this: they won't give a damn about you by next July."

Swift finally looks over at him, making eye contact. "…No?"

"Once the Capitol has a new plaything they'll leave you alone. Especially considering that, for one—" he starts counting on his fingers. "— we're from the outlier Districts. Unless you're interesting, they don't care about us, if anything they're still all up in arms about Medya from Four. And two, your games were boring as hell."

Instantly, he's offended by that. "Boring? In what fucking world—"

"It just wasn't a good show." Nemorio shrugs. "Which isn't my opinion, by the way - it's a well known Capitol fact, I'm just relaying that information to you. Anyways what I'm trying to get at is that it seems bad but it really isn't. I think. That's what the older Victors say, it gets easier the older you get. And I think they're right."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, y'know…" Nemorio shifts around to face him. "Being a Victor, and stuff. Having to come back to this damned place once every six months. All the dead people start haunting you less when you have like twenty years of experience, or at least that's what Ms. Cassell says but she's always been a little weird about death, so I dunno…"

Swift clenches his jaw, glaring at the floor. "I don't want to hear this."

"I know you don't, I was in your same spot last year—"

He sniffs. "Just shut up, man."

Nemorio sighs, but shuts up anyway. Swift sits there and stews in his anger. He didn't want to hear some cheesy bullshit "it gets better!" speech, he knows it does. It always does. But it's not all that good right now and that makes him mad. He doesn't have the patience to do that whole grief thing all over again - especially when this time around was so, so much more complicated than the first time with his parents. Missing somebody was a lot easier than… whatever was happening now.

…This train of thought sucks. He cuts it off there.

Eventually, they're going to start worrying about where he's at, aren't they? He didn't want to suffer through Lairus giving some halfhearted discipline speech about how he needed to be present and in the moment in front of the Capitolites. He knows, he doesn't care. Plus, he didn't want to sit with this guy anymore. Swift begrudgingly shimmies out from under the table, patting his suit down and getting the wrinkles out of it and making himself look presentable again.

Nemorio crawls out behind him, quickly catching up to him when he starts to walk away. "Seriously though, if you ever need anything you can call me. Like… here—" he pulls out a torn slip of paper out of his coat pocket and hands it over to Swift. He eyes it skeptically, but takes it and flips it over, revealing a string of numbers. "You have my number now so… I want to stay in touch with you. Give me a call sometime, okay?"

Swift looks up at him, unamused. "Did you have this at the ready?"

"Doesn't matter. Promise you'll call?"

"…Sure." He lies. Is this guy serious?

Nemorio offers him another small smile — since apparently his lips could only reach so far on his face — and takes off back towards the crowd. Swift watches him reunite with a group of other Victors, perfectly rejoining them like he had always been there. He folds the piece of paper in his hand and gently tucks it into his pants pocket.

He wasn't sure what part of that conversation hinted he was interested in rubbing shoulders with Nemorio. They were only going to see each other twice a year, so he thinks that frankly that tree boy needed to get a life outside of him. Personally, Swift had too much going on in Five to give a damn about what some guy halfway across the country is up to just because they share a birth year.

He touches his hand to his hip, making sure the slip hadn't miraculously fluttered away in the minute since he placed it there.

He was getting tired of this party thing. He decides he's going to find Lairus and ask him to get them both the hell out of here, because lord knows he isn't having a better time. Then they're going to board the train, go back to their sad lives knowing this is all behind them, and never have to think about this forsaken place until July. And, just to be spiteful, never give Nemorio a call.

Probably.

The evil SYOT appears

Bit of a nothingburger prologue but idc I just wanted to get something out there by 9/11. Umm… all subbing info and verse stuff is on my profile! I'm really excited for this even if I'm admittedly very unprepared but I think it'll be fun. Everybody must play niceys with me. This is my first time and I'm scared.

:heart: