Hunger Games fic: Honor (PG)
Title: Honor
Rating: PG
Word count: 628
Beta: none
Characters: Enobaria, Lyme
Setting: early in my Victorious-Rebellious AU in which the Capitol won the war
Summary: "Why did you do it?" Enobaria asks Lyme...
Author's note: Written for deathmallow who wanted Enobaria & Lyme - honor.
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Enobaria walks into the prison complex beneath the mountain called “The Nut” as if it belongs to her. Whenever anyone tries to bar her way, all she has to do is grin her shark’s grin at them, all pointy teeth and fathomless dark eyes, and they let her pass. By the time she reaches Lyme’s cell a dozen stories below ground, surrounded by tons of granite, her contempt for District 2’s prison system and those who run it is profound.
A man the size of a house leads her to a room with three walls of manmade stone and one of inch-thick glass. There is no furniture, only a naked light fixture overhead. He hands her a headset, very much like the ones they wear in the mentors’ control room during the Games, and locks her in with a warning that she has five minutes.
“Good luck trying to get me out of here if I’m not ready to leave, little man,” she says to the closing door and then turns back to the window-wall.
Lyme stands straight and tall on the other side. She wears a black prison jumpsuit and a headset the twin of the one Enobaria wears, her wrists and ankles bear silvery shackles, and there is a metal and plastic collar around her throat; green lights that will turn red when correction is applied chase each other along the seams. The indignity of it is almost nauseating. Once upon a time, Lyme was Enobaria’s mentor and it hurts her to see her like this, as though she were some animal, dangerous and not to be trusted. She says as much to Lyme.
“Oh, Enobaria,” Lyme laughs, “they’re right not to trust me.” She takes a step closer to the window. “How are you?” Nothing in Lyme’s demeanor, not the way she holds herself, not the look in her eyes, or the tone of her voice, admits of either defeat or repentance. Lyme is Lyme. Enobaria has never known anyone more honorable or more worthy of her respect. That’s why she’s here.
“Why did you do it?” she asks the older woman and Lyme tilts her head to the left. “You committed treason, but more than that, you were one of their leaders. Why?”
Lyme doesn’t hesitate in her reply. “Honor.”
Enobaria frowns. “I don’t understand.” Honor as justification for treason is the last thing she expected from her former mentor.
“Honor,” Lyme repeats. “And its lack. How many times has he used you since you won your Games?” She doesn’t clarify who “he” is or what she means by “used”; there’s no need.
“What does that matter?”
Again, Lyme cocks her head to the side, but her gaze never wavers. “That you even need to ask that is proof enough of the dishonor he does you. By dishonoring you, he dishonors District 2. And in dishonoring District 2, he dishonors all of Panem.” Lyme steps closer to the glass wall. “We are not property, Enobaria. Not we victors and not we citizens of Panem.”
Enobaria blinks and she finally has to look away from Lyme’s hazel eyes. It was easy for her to deny the things Johanna Mason had said in the moments leading up to the tribute parade, easier still to deny Haymitch Abernathy when they’d met in the Remake Center earlier that same afternoon, the day of the Quarter Quell’s Opening Ceremonies. But Lyme…
The door opens behind her. “Time’s up,” the man-house says. Enobaria ignores him.
She closes the distance between herself and Lyme and when she reaches the glass barrier, Enobaria raises her right hand, resting her palm against the cool glass.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she tells Lyme, her voice barely above a whisper. “You should not be here.”
Rating: PG
Word count: 628
Beta: none
Characters: Enobaria, Lyme
Setting: early in my Victorious-Rebellious AU in which the Capitol won the war
Summary: "Why did you do it?" Enobaria asks Lyme...
Author's note: Written for deathmallow who wanted Enobaria & Lyme - honor.
---------------------
Enobaria walks into the prison complex beneath the mountain called “The Nut” as if it belongs to her. Whenever anyone tries to bar her way, all she has to do is grin her shark’s grin at them, all pointy teeth and fathomless dark eyes, and they let her pass. By the time she reaches Lyme’s cell a dozen stories below ground, surrounded by tons of granite, her contempt for District 2’s prison system and those who run it is profound.
A man the size of a house leads her to a room with three walls of manmade stone and one of inch-thick glass. There is no furniture, only a naked light fixture overhead. He hands her a headset, very much like the ones they wear in the mentors’ control room during the Games, and locks her in with a warning that she has five minutes.
“Good luck trying to get me out of here if I’m not ready to leave, little man,” she says to the closing door and then turns back to the window-wall.
Lyme stands straight and tall on the other side. She wears a black prison jumpsuit and a headset the twin of the one Enobaria wears, her wrists and ankles bear silvery shackles, and there is a metal and plastic collar around her throat; green lights that will turn red when correction is applied chase each other along the seams. The indignity of it is almost nauseating. Once upon a time, Lyme was Enobaria’s mentor and it hurts her to see her like this, as though she were some animal, dangerous and not to be trusted. She says as much to Lyme.
“Oh, Enobaria,” Lyme laughs, “they’re right not to trust me.” She takes a step closer to the window. “How are you?” Nothing in Lyme’s demeanor, not the way she holds herself, not the look in her eyes, or the tone of her voice, admits of either defeat or repentance. Lyme is Lyme. Enobaria has never known anyone more honorable or more worthy of her respect. That’s why she’s here.
“Why did you do it?” she asks the older woman and Lyme tilts her head to the left. “You committed treason, but more than that, you were one of their leaders. Why?”
Lyme doesn’t hesitate in her reply. “Honor.”
Enobaria frowns. “I don’t understand.” Honor as justification for treason is the last thing she expected from her former mentor.
“Honor,” Lyme repeats. “And its lack. How many times has he used you since you won your Games?” She doesn’t clarify who “he” is or what she means by “used”; there’s no need.
“What does that matter?”
Again, Lyme cocks her head to the side, but her gaze never wavers. “That you even need to ask that is proof enough of the dishonor he does you. By dishonoring you, he dishonors District 2. And in dishonoring District 2, he dishonors all of Panem.” Lyme steps closer to the glass wall. “We are not property, Enobaria. Not we victors and not we citizens of Panem.”
Enobaria blinks and she finally has to look away from Lyme’s hazel eyes. It was easy for her to deny the things Johanna Mason had said in the moments leading up to the tribute parade, easier still to deny Haymitch Abernathy when they’d met in the Remake Center earlier that same afternoon, the day of the Quarter Quell’s Opening Ceremonies. But Lyme…
The door opens behind her. “Time’s up,” the man-house says. Enobaria ignores him.
She closes the distance between herself and Lyme and when she reaches the glass barrier, Enobaria raises her right hand, resting her palm against the cool glass.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she tells Lyme, her voice barely above a whisper. “You should not be here.”