Hunger Games: Petra and President Snow
This is just a random thing I wrote on the train one day coming back from Osaka a few weeks ago.
Petra is one of my District 2 Victors, the one who took a mace to the hip and never managed to heal properly. She's also the staunchest patriot in the Village (she's a Brutus girl through and through) and has the highest opinion of President Snow. I wanted to poke at that (you'd think having a horrible Arena and a crippling injury would make her bitter, but no!), so I did.
The world is a haze, a whirling mix of pain and the medication to dull it, and Petra can't tell if the president really has walls that glitter and swirl with colours, but it's beautiful anyway. Her hand trembles against the cane the doctors gave her but she holds tight, lets it ground her, and prays that she doesn't mess this up.
Because she failed, didn't she, she played the Games but stumbled at the end, and now she's a cripple and an embarrassment and it doesn't honour anyone to have a Victor who practically had to crawl across the stage. She wouldn't blame the president if he sent her away in disgust and waited for the next year, when hopefully they get someone worthy of the honour.
"Petra," says a rich, deep voice, one that Petra's heard over the television so many times, and she's memorized his cadence and the way he speaks and has imagined him saying her name a hundred times but it's nothing to the real thing.
Petra focuses her vision and there he is, the president of entire country, and he's standing right there in front of her, tall and regal in a deep purple suit, and she sucks in several breaths. "Mr. President."
He waves a hand at a chair. "Please sit down."
And no, this is a test, because Petra is injured but she's a Career and a Two and Twos don't sit, if the president asks if you want to sit you say sir no sir and if he asks if you're tired you tell him you've never been better. "Thank you sir," Petra says, and holds her head up high, even though her hip is burning and her leg is on fire and she swears there are scorpions chewing through her bones. "I don't mind standing."
"Petra," the president says again. "Do sit, I insist. You've worked very hard."
Refusing once is a courtesy but twice would be insubordination, and Petra all but collapses into the plush chair he pulls out for her. He didn't have to do that -- Brutus warned her he wouldn't, even, he told her it's customary for the Victors to stand -- but he did, and not because she's weak. Because he understands.
"I was very impressed with you," the president says, taking a seat across from her, and Petra's breath sticks in her chest because he didn't say 'her performance' or 'her Games', he said her. "I think it's safe to say not many could have pulled off what you did."
Petra shakes her head. "I did my duty, sir," she says, an the words calm her, acting as a balm on her jagged nerves. Because she did her duty, above and beyond, Brutus said, and she's proven her loyalty and loyalty is always rewarded. "I was proud to do it. I only wish --"
The medication is strong. Petra bites off a curse as those few traitorous words slip through, and she grits her teeth and the president tilts his head to the side. "And what is that?" he asks. "Tell me."
Petra lets out a shaking breath and grips the arms of her chair, and she's hesitating when the president himself is asking her to speak and that's a horrible breach, it goes against everything she was ever taught except he doesn't get angry. He just waits, lips curved in a faint smile, and Petra takes a minute to compose herself. "I'm not a very good symbol," Petra says finally. This isn't in any of the prepared statements Brutus drilled her on but it's too late now. "I -- the Hunger Games -- the Victors are a showcase of valour and honour, and I'm -- no one will want to look at me. Not like this."
"I'm looking at you," the president says, sharp and ferocious, and it knocks Petra back. "Look at me, Petra, do I look ashamed?" She shakes her head because he doesn't, his eyes are blazing and he sweeps his gaze right over her leg and her cane and he doesn't even flinch. "If I'm not ashamed of you, no one else will dare to be. I don't want to hear you speak of yourself like that again."
Petra means to say 'yes sir', means to thank him for the warning and the reminder, but she's so, so tired and the ache has gone straight down into her foot and up through her ribs and it's too much, it's all too much. The air shimmers and sparkles around her and everything tilts sideways and Petra bursts into tears.
"Ah my dear," says the president, and he stands up, actually walks over to her and rests a hand on her head. "You have fought hard for this, and you deserve everything you've been promised. All the riches, all the glory, all the honour. And I will have no one call you an embarrassment, not even you, is that clear? If I ever hear you refer to yourself as anything but deserving I will be most displeased."
Petra just cries harder, but she manages to choke out a 'thank you'. It's all but impossible to think of herself as worthy when she looks like this, twisted and ruined and weak, but the president doesn't think so. Even better, he made it an order, and Petra can't refuse an order. By doing so he's given her permission not to hate herself for failing to live up to her potential.
His hand moves across her hair, lightly, and Petra reins herself in. She sits up, squares her shoulders, and looks up at him through the tears and the mess in her head and meets his eyes. "Thank you sir," Petra says, and she is Two and she is a Victor and she was born from the mountains and she can do this, she will. "I won't forget this."
"See that you don't," he says, and Petra smiles before she can stop herself. It's not her Career smile, polite and distant, and she feels it take up her whole face before she catches it and yanks it back. But he doesn't scold her for the mistake, doesn't frown or cluck his teeth or anything, and yes, that's why Petra did this. Why she did all of it. "You must be tired," he says. "Why don't you get some rest before tonight's engagement."
"Thank you, sir," Petra says again, and every muscle in her lower half screams when she stands but she forces herself to anyway. It's the worst agony she's ever known, walking the length of the room to the door, and she swears her bones are snapping with every step but she has to do this, she promised. She will be strong.
"Petra," the president calls out as she reaches the door, and she turns, fighting as hard as she fought against the One girl to keep the scream in her throat. "I'm proud of you."
"I'm honoured, sir," Petra says, and when he nods she pushes open the door.
As soon as it closes Petra collapses, like a puppet with cut strings. Brutus catches her, and he lifts her up in his arms and she can't help a whimper as her whole body lights on fire. "You all right, sweetheart?" Brutus asks, walking her through the corridors.
It's too much, the pain presses on her and drags her away and she's going to pass out, dizzy and swimming through the dark, but Petra rallies herself one last time. "He said -- he's proud of me."
"He should be," Brutus says. "I sure am."
"I walked for him." They're flaying off her skin with dull knives now and Petra lets out a noise that's half shriek, half sob. "Even if I never walk again, I walked for him."
Brutus doesn't answer -- or maybe he does, but the world disappears into a sea of pain and Petra doesn't catch it.
Petra is one of my District 2 Victors, the one who took a mace to the hip and never managed to heal properly. She's also the staunchest patriot in the Village (she's a Brutus girl through and through) and has the highest opinion of President Snow. I wanted to poke at that (you'd think having a horrible Arena and a crippling injury would make her bitter, but no!), so I did.
The world is a haze, a whirling mix of pain and the medication to dull it, and Petra can't tell if the president really has walls that glitter and swirl with colours, but it's beautiful anyway. Her hand trembles against the cane the doctors gave her but she holds tight, lets it ground her, and prays that she doesn't mess this up.
Because she failed, didn't she, she played the Games but stumbled at the end, and now she's a cripple and an embarrassment and it doesn't honour anyone to have a Victor who practically had to crawl across the stage. She wouldn't blame the president if he sent her away in disgust and waited for the next year, when hopefully they get someone worthy of the honour.
"Petra," says a rich, deep voice, one that Petra's heard over the television so many times, and she's memorized his cadence and the way he speaks and has imagined him saying her name a hundred times but it's nothing to the real thing.
Petra focuses her vision and there he is, the president of entire country, and he's standing right there in front of her, tall and regal in a deep purple suit, and she sucks in several breaths. "Mr. President."
He waves a hand at a chair. "Please sit down."
And no, this is a test, because Petra is injured but she's a Career and a Two and Twos don't sit, if the president asks if you want to sit you say sir no sir and if he asks if you're tired you tell him you've never been better. "Thank you sir," Petra says, and holds her head up high, even though her hip is burning and her leg is on fire and she swears there are scorpions chewing through her bones. "I don't mind standing."
"Petra," the president says again. "Do sit, I insist. You've worked very hard."
Refusing once is a courtesy but twice would be insubordination, and Petra all but collapses into the plush chair he pulls out for her. He didn't have to do that -- Brutus warned her he wouldn't, even, he told her it's customary for the Victors to stand -- but he did, and not because she's weak. Because he understands.
"I was very impressed with you," the president says, taking a seat across from her, and Petra's breath sticks in her chest because he didn't say 'her performance' or 'her Games', he said her. "I think it's safe to say not many could have pulled off what you did."
Petra shakes her head. "I did my duty, sir," she says, an the words calm her, acting as a balm on her jagged nerves. Because she did her duty, above and beyond, Brutus said, and she's proven her loyalty and loyalty is always rewarded. "I was proud to do it. I only wish --"
The medication is strong. Petra bites off a curse as those few traitorous words slip through, and she grits her teeth and the president tilts his head to the side. "And what is that?" he asks. "Tell me."
Petra lets out a shaking breath and grips the arms of her chair, and she's hesitating when the president himself is asking her to speak and that's a horrible breach, it goes against everything she was ever taught except he doesn't get angry. He just waits, lips curved in a faint smile, and Petra takes a minute to compose herself. "I'm not a very good symbol," Petra says finally. This isn't in any of the prepared statements Brutus drilled her on but it's too late now. "I -- the Hunger Games -- the Victors are a showcase of valour and honour, and I'm -- no one will want to look at me. Not like this."
"I'm looking at you," the president says, sharp and ferocious, and it knocks Petra back. "Look at me, Petra, do I look ashamed?" She shakes her head because he doesn't, his eyes are blazing and he sweeps his gaze right over her leg and her cane and he doesn't even flinch. "If I'm not ashamed of you, no one else will dare to be. I don't want to hear you speak of yourself like that again."
Petra means to say 'yes sir', means to thank him for the warning and the reminder, but she's so, so tired and the ache has gone straight down into her foot and up through her ribs and it's too much, it's all too much. The air shimmers and sparkles around her and everything tilts sideways and Petra bursts into tears.
"Ah my dear," says the president, and he stands up, actually walks over to her and rests a hand on her head. "You have fought hard for this, and you deserve everything you've been promised. All the riches, all the glory, all the honour. And I will have no one call you an embarrassment, not even you, is that clear? If I ever hear you refer to yourself as anything but deserving I will be most displeased."
Petra just cries harder, but she manages to choke out a 'thank you'. It's all but impossible to think of herself as worthy when she looks like this, twisted and ruined and weak, but the president doesn't think so. Even better, he made it an order, and Petra can't refuse an order. By doing so he's given her permission not to hate herself for failing to live up to her potential.
His hand moves across her hair, lightly, and Petra reins herself in. She sits up, squares her shoulders, and looks up at him through the tears and the mess in her head and meets his eyes. "Thank you sir," Petra says, and she is Two and she is a Victor and she was born from the mountains and she can do this, she will. "I won't forget this."
"See that you don't," he says, and Petra smiles before she can stop herself. It's not her Career smile, polite and distant, and she feels it take up her whole face before she catches it and yanks it back. But he doesn't scold her for the mistake, doesn't frown or cluck his teeth or anything, and yes, that's why Petra did this. Why she did all of it. "You must be tired," he says. "Why don't you get some rest before tonight's engagement."
"Thank you, sir," Petra says again, and every muscle in her lower half screams when she stands but she forces herself to anyway. It's the worst agony she's ever known, walking the length of the room to the door, and she swears her bones are snapping with every step but she has to do this, she promised. She will be strong.
"Petra," the president calls out as she reaches the door, and she turns, fighting as hard as she fought against the One girl to keep the scream in her throat. "I'm proud of you."
"I'm honoured, sir," Petra says, and when he nods she pushes open the door.
As soon as it closes Petra collapses, like a puppet with cut strings. Brutus catches her, and he lifts her up in his arms and she can't help a whimper as her whole body lights on fire. "You all right, sweetheart?" Brutus asks, walking her through the corridors.
It's too much, the pain presses on her and drags her away and she's going to pass out, dizzy and swimming through the dark, but Petra rallies herself one last time. "He said -- he's proud of me."
"He should be," Brutus says. "I sure am."
"I walked for him." They're flaying off her skin with dull knives now and Petra lets out a noise that's half shriek, half sob. "Even if I never walk again, I walked for him."
Brutus doesn't answer -- or maybe he does, but the world disappears into a sea of pain and Petra doesn't catch it.