Meet me in the crowd! [District 10 Opening Ceremony]
Jul 7, 2013 4:00:04 GMT -5
Post by Raeoki on Jul 7, 2013 4:00:04 GMT -5
(ooc: I’d just like to warn y’all: y’all might just facepalm at one part. Just thought I should tell y’all.)
When it was announced by the escort that they’d be arriving soon, Caritas had been practically flying with euphoria. He zipped from one end of the car to the other, in a sort of swift pace, his muscles twitching and itching with energy; and the smile on his face was large and unbreakable. Caritas thought not of his district partner, and the problems she had presented to him yesterday during the reaping; he thought not of his impending demise a week from now; he thought not of the other tributes, nor of what had been commented on them by his mentor(s) and escort during the reaping, nor of the fact that there were several other children that were younger than he; all that concerned him at that point in time was the Capitol: the wonderful land that built this utopia called “Panem”. Caritas thought of the president, and how magnificent it would be if he looked down from his perch and smiled at Caritas – and directly at Caritas. But the moment he thought this, Caritas suddenly stopped his pacing and zipping, and became stiff and erect, his iced eyes staring at the wall in some fixated, blank, glassy manner. Caritas Devhish, a very stern, very baritone voice hissed in his mind: you are a selfish, decadent bourgeois. You are too self-centered. You are immoral; a failure to this golden utopia of suffering! What of the other children, eh?! You are being unfair to them in your selfishness! If there were any lashes about, I’d order you to scourge yourself. Be ashamed! Ashamed! Ashamed!
Thus Caritas’s shoulders heaved, and his head sagged, and he shuffled over to a sofa and sat heavily down upon it in defeat. And he stayed like that till their arrival.
Every now and again, Caritas peeked from the corner of his eyes at the window, to see if the Capitol was in sight yet. After several, rather impatient glances, he spotted the first ivory tower upwardly slashing the sky. The moment he saw this, he forgot of his rue-plagued, self-afflicted punishment, and squealed with excitement, and flung from the sofa and at the window. He spread his thin fingers outward, and pressed his palms against the glass, as if trying to push the window and dive out the train; he shoved the tip of his nose against the window, and his eyes bugged in their sockets. Soon, the individual tower became a thousand towers; glowing, triumphant skyscrapers shooting from the earth and piercing into the sky’s underbelly in an almost mocking, defiant way – like a revolutionary as he sticks a knife into a tyrant’s chest, laughing in the despot’s face all the while. And Caritas shook as he watched the mammoth spears, for the only buildings he thought existed were hovels; and to see such marvels of man – to see the evidence of man’s worth – at how much wonder and splendor was built from man - made chills scamper up and down his spine, and his face paled, and his body tensed, as if he were facing down an enemy. Then, suddenly, he stiffened; and color was returned to his face as he realized: What city is this? The president’s city! So, then, everything within is the president’s – including the skyscrapers! And a large grin that wrinkled his young face spread across, and he chuckled a little to himself. This is not a work of man – this is the work of the president! Just like everything else in Panem!
It was then that Caritas realized how much belonged to the president; for, even when he twisted his head about from one side to another, he could not see the edge of the Capitol.
Darkness suddenly slashed off the view of the Capitol, and Caritas flinched, and fidgeted with anxiety, for he feared that he would not get a chance to see the Capitol’s glory again. Fortunately, the darkness jerked to an abrupt end in the matter of ten seconds; and then only color swarmed Caritas’s vision. For before him lay a surging, rainbow mass, that flickered and screamed in approval and twitched ecstatically. He thought he saw hands shoot up and flourish from the mass and flourish excitedly – but surely hands could not be gilded? Or green? Or blue? Or purple? Or all of those colors combined? Perhaps the hands belonged to some unfortunate souls whose extremities had been stained by the rainbow sea? But – but wait! Caritas squinted, and pressed his face closer to the glass, till his forehead smudged the glass and his nose was sandwiched between the window and his face. Those aren’t – oh no – those aren’t…human faces…are they?
His stomach quivered and sloshed within him; and he thought that a block of ice had been set against his spinal column. He wanted to look away; however, his horror was paralyzing, and his muscles were stiff and tense in their fear; the only corporal parts of him that moved were his hands, which shivered against the window. Caritas’s lips were parted, forming a small, very round hole in his face; and as he looked on, it grew and grew, becoming a very wide cavity that breathed a pale gray film on the glass. He saw men who looked like birds; men who looked whose faces had been stretched into strange, abnormal, eye-catching shapes; and each man wore such bright, such wretched, such decadent, such rich clothing that the very sight of it made Caritas wish to throw himself upon the floor and weep as if he had watched his entire family be slaughtered. No! This is not my government; these are not my presidents! No! No! NO! NO!
Caritas didn’t know how feeling and ability came into his muscles; somehow, by the power of his own will perhaps, he began to move stiffly backward, like a rusted robot. In the same manner, he pressed his palms against his ears, and his body bent forward. These…these are my…my presidents…no…how…no one ever looked so…disgusting…ARISTOCRATS! ARISTOCRATS! ARISTOCRATS! RICH BOURGEOIS! OUT TO EAT – OUT TO GET – OUT TO KILL – RIGHT OUTSIDE THE - no! Calm! Calm! Answers…reasons…no such thing as an illogical, extravagant government…no. No! Those guys out there can’t be my presidents! No! Some – some of them looked like animals…maybe…maybe they’re the president’s…pets? And, suddenly, all was right with the world. His body jerked upward, and he threw his shoulders back, and he lifted his head triumphantly, happily, contentedly. His hands were no longer upon his ears; rather, they were curled into fists, and were set firmly atop his hips; and he thrust his chest out. That’s it! The president’s pets! Of course! Of course! And he sent them out to greet us! Aw! He’s such a sweet guy! And he returned to the window with a spring in his step, and waved his hand at the rainbow mass, and beamed at them in a very open, winsome way; and he did not think about how he had so easily turned those men into domesticated animals.
Caritas was very calm when he arrived at his prep station; calm enough, in fact, that he found himself very observant of the trio of the president’s pets that had suddenly bounded forward to him upon his arrival, and circled him like a threesome of hungry, rainbow-colored vultures, and herded him over to where they would be cleansing him and clipping him and painting him. They all gave him very cheery greetings, and who appeared to be the leader of the trio – a husky, sturdy man, with confidence and assuredness glinting his gilded eyes and reappearing often in his smile (and he smiled often; a trait that got on Caritas’s nerves a little, for he could not understand the reason behind any of the man’s smiles, and though Caritas knew that the older male was merely another foolish, silly pet without morals, it was hard to forget that one of the many sins of his philosophy was to be happy without a reason) – introduced them all: he was Jupiter; a woman with vibrant pink skin and moved and spoke with great, wide embellishes and had a fixed smile that took up most of her face, and whose hair glinted gold and silver was called Thalia; the other woman, who wore thick, black clothes, and whose hair and skin were a dark purple, and whose shoulders habitually sagged, and had a heavy, permanent scowl and wide, pitiful, pleading, pained eyes fixed onto her face was known as Melpomene. They did not force him to introduce himself, and in fact encouraged him to never speak his name to them, for they had seen his reaping, and congratulated him many times for the willingness and joy and enthusiasm he had brought to the camera, for many tributes – as Thalia reported – were often very grumpy and paradoxical to Caritas’s reaction to being reaped, and often inflicted there negativities upon their poor prep team. “That’s what we are you know! A prep – prep – prep – prep – prEEEEeeep team!” Thalia had cheered, her pink arms flourishing in the air. “But I’m sure you’re not going to be like that, I know it, I know it! I saw you, all smiling, all happy – just like meeeeEEEeeee! Oh, oh, you’re going to be wonderful! You’re going to be SWELL! Oh, oh, oh!” And she enveloped him tightly in her vibrant arms tightly.
Caritas was very happy and felt fortunate that they did not force him to say his name to them; for he did not feel that it was proper for such a respectable, morally affable fellow like him to speak to silly old pets.
Instead of forcing him to perform introductions, however, they did force him to remove all outer-wear, and lie prostrate on a metal table. Caritas did not mind this; for it would be doubly selfish for him if he did. For it is self-preference and vanity that causes people to be modest about their bodies, for they feel that it is such a precious resource that they ought to keep it and hide it from the rest of the world; also, it would have been insubordination for Caritas to become disagreeable to the prep team and refuse to undress, especially after Thalia had just willed him to be more pleasant than the majority of Caritas’s predecessors. So, as he was removing his shirt, Melpomene – who was watching him – leaned over to her more brightly-colored compatriot Thalia, and, keeping her voice so low that Caritas had to strain his ears, sighed: “Look at him! Everything’s gone to his height; and so young, too…” And Caritas flinched, and his heart dipped in shame, for he felt that he had become an emotional burden to Melpomene for causing her such woe. “That last one was so handsome and so much stronger and so much older…”
Thalia – who did not bother to keep the exchange private as Melpomene had, rather because her nature did not allow her to keep anything private – giggled in a very childlike, but somehow coquettish way (which was the usual way for her), and replied with an airy flourish of her painted hand: “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Melpy! Don’t you remember that guy died on the first day? Eee hee hee hee!”
Melpomene’s grim grown twisted further down her face. “Yes,” she breathed, “I suppose that even looks could not save him.” And she dipped her purple head, her eyelids closed, as if in a pause for mourning.
Thalia refused to absorb her friend’s melancholy. “Who knows, who knows!” she chirped. “Maybe all that youth and littleness’ll be just what saves this year’s! Eee hee hee hee eee!” She pressed her fingertips to her lips, a mouth that had stripes of varying neon colors painted onto it; her shoulders shook with mirth for a moment, and then she removed her hand from her mouth, her shoulders still trembling happily. “And, you know,” she said, her tone of voice portraying this addition as a highly pleasing afterthought, “you really shouldn’t count him completely – at least, not when we’re discussing looks. I mean, eee hee, just look at that face!” She made a brisk gesture with her hand in his direction, and then added very squeakily, as if she had was transforming into a mouse: “I just want to pinch those widdle cheeks! Eeeee hee hee hee hee eee hee!”
Melpomene’s sight followed Thalia’s arm, fixating itself onto Caritas; as she looked upon him, her wide eyes suddenly became very hollow, so lifeless that one would have thought that the eyeballs were only illusions, that there were truly only a pair of cave-like sockets set into a worn and sagging face. The moment Caritas’s eyes flickered upward and his eyes met hers, some strange instinct seized his muscles and made him turn away from her, for the sight had suddenly struck within him a sense of panic and worry, neither of which Caritas understood; and though he felt ashamed and very selfish for feeling this way about Melpomene, he could not force himself to turn around and look back at her. And his stomach cringed within him as he heard her heave out a long, agonized sigh, as if she had just crawled off a torture rack. It was then that Caritas decided that he hated her; he knew not why, but now that he had truly seen her eyes, and heard that awful sigh, something about her made him sicken, as if he had just looked upon a backward, opposing sin that had become palpable and seeable.
As he removed his clothes and laid his body against the table, he felt his stomach quiver and wallow in something sticky and thick and heavy that was threatening to consume it completely; and Caritas blamed Melpomene for this feeling, for the image of her absolute mourning and despair was burned into his mind.
Why did it bother him so much?
It had followed him. It had remained within him even when Melpomene and her comrades had left the room; it had been there to distract and misguide his thoughts as his stylist had entered a room (what he had been like, Caritas could not recall); and it was still there, haunting him like some shadowy, evil specter, hissing at him in some ghost-language that he knew not a word of, but somehow, he knew it was taunting him. What am I? Caritas decided it was spitting at him. What am I? What is my purpose? Why do you even care, Devhish? Am I not just a little pet? A little pet? A little pet?
Of course, the specter was right in every aspect: it was merely the creation of some stupid, mindless pet, who held no actual thought or emotion, but did and felt only what its master – the president – told it to. But still – what was this annoying titillation that irked and riled his heart? Why did he and that damn specter keep chanting, Why do you care? Why do you care? Why do you care? when some strange part of him that was chained to some strange area of his sweeping altruism that had been recently untouched and was still quite unexplored by its master kept screaming, Care, you little fool, care!
Caritas gnashed his teeth as he stepped into his chariot, and released a long, exasperated sigh through them. He wore his Opening Ceremony dress with expressed indifference, as he would with any of the clothes, for to care about clothing is to be vain and selfish, and thus sinful. Thus, he felt no embarrassment as he tottered in his chariot as if he was about to fall upon a flank, having been thrust into a heavy, fat orb of wool that his body had trouble maneuvering in, for the weight and circular shape made him very clumsy and liable to fall, even when he did not move. He wore a tight glove that had no fingers, but, rather, cloven hooves, and the glove stretched from his fingertips to the end of his upper arm, and was a very dull gray color; also, he wore tights of a slightly heavier material than the gloves, and went to the high point of his small thigh, and both of the tights’ feet had a compartment that was also made to look as if it was a hoof, in which Caritas his toes thrust into. Also, atop his head was a lid shaped very much like a baseball hat, and had wool glued all about the bill, and perched upon the dome of the hat were a pair of cloth ears that drooped at the tips, and were made to look as if it had been cut from a sheep’s head, though Caritas had silently thought that they were bunny ears, and thus had not realized when he had been trying the costume on – and, in fact, still did not realize, for his stylist had not disclosed his intentions to his tribute – he was meant to be a sheep; instead, he reasoned that he had been dressed up as a very fluffy bunny. And he did not mind this, for secretly, deep within his cold, hyper-altruistic heart, he had an intense affection for the rabbit species.
It took several minutes for Caritas and Amelia to make their debut; gradually, one by one, the tributes were carted from the long, high-roofed, corridor-like room that they were initiated at; and, with each pair of tributes that passed through the large, gilded gates of the corridor, a minute ticked by. Thus, it took nine minutes and a few seconds before the dun mares that bore their chariot lurched forward, moving at a graceful, brisk pace as they carried their burden before the amassed eyes of the president’s pets. It was all very sudden, really, the transition from a gray, long room, and into the color-filled streets of the Capitol; where the stones were of purged ivory, and banners and inspiring propaganda dangled proudly, regally, in their crimson and gold colorsthe national colors of Soviet Panem; where, on each flank, there was a surging, roiling mass of the president’s vibrant pets, that were a bunch of brilliant colors collaged together, and that reacted with each entrance of a new pair of tributes with such a sudden, truculent glee that energized their bodies and made them leap and thrash about in maniacal euphoria; and there was a violence in their movements, in the way they literally screamed with such aroused vigor that one might have thought that they saw not vehicles of entertainment come before them, but rather the bars of a cage, where they had stayed long enough to reach the peak of emotional depravity, and when they leapt into the air, it might have been supposed that they were rather leaping at the bars of their insanity-inflicting cage, in the hopes that either the bars would give, or their bodies will.
However, Caritas did not notice this; instead, he was too busy with a new, lashing emotion that made him cringe beneath the collective gaze of those thousands of oddly colored eyes, for he knew not how to react them to. Not once in his life had he been subject to the stares of so many people, and he knew not how to cope with the attention. It was clear that the pets wanted him to react to it; they looked at him with such innocent pleading that Caritas could not help but feel self-scornful when he considered the possibility of simply ignoring them. However, what would the other tributes think of him if he should flourish his hand as gaily and freely as they did? Would they sneer at him, think he was an arrogant ass that was trying to usurp their rightfully claimed attention? Oh! Caritas would absolutely despise that! But yet…the pets…Caritas’s mouth twisted about as he glanced at them from the corner of his eyes, his head bowed in puzzled shame. Then, for a moment, two conflicting emotions were thrown into a coliseum that lay in his heart, and battled ferociously; however, both were matched together in strength and energy, and neither could defeat the other. So, in a convulsion of emotional confusion and vexation, Caritas’s arm suddenly jerked up, becoming a rigid, unmoving, slanted line in the air, with his fingers pressed tight together(think Nazi salute). And that was the closest Adolf Caritas Hitler Devhish came to a wave; and even in that modest, still greeting, Caritas could not help but wince a little, as he still felt as if he was being unintentionally arrogant. So, to avoid any accusation of Dark Days sympathizing and/or being a cold-hearted egoist from his fellow tributes, his mouth became a wide, beaming grin, and he cried out, in hopes that this ode would belay any of those condemnations: “HAIL TO THE GREAT PRESIDENT!” This promptly aroused several screams of delight from the bystanders, as well as many scowls and glances of perplexity.
Not once did Caritas lower his arm even an inch as the chariot moved; but once the mares slowed and they entered the half-circle shaped plaza that lay before the training center and assumed the chariot into position beside the District 9 children and the fellows from District Eleven, Caritas lowered it very eagerly, for it had grown very numb and heavy and hard to hold up, and it flopped against his side listlessly. Caritas tilted his head upward, and immediately, his face became pale, and his eyes became wide and his mouth fell open, in such an awestruck way that one would have thought that he had caught a glimpse of God’s face in the sky. However, it was not God that Caritas had seen, though, in his mind, it was a being very close in power to God, if not more powerful: and this being was the president. He smiled down at the tributes from a stone portico, his mouth thin and gracious, and he promptly proceeded with his speech of welcome.
Caritas would walk away from the Opening Ceremonies with not one word of the president’s speech residing in his memory; for his mind had been too preoccupied praying over and over again, Let him look at me! Let him look at me! Oh, please, let him look at me! For Caritas felt that should the president just simply glance in his direction, then, maybe, some of his political divinity would rub off on him. And, promptly, for it was a short speech, Caritas’s prayers were happily answered in the affirmative: for, just as the president was finishing speaking, his gaze swept over each of the tributes, starting from District 1 and moving down, till finally, it was atop of Caritas, and then moving onto the little District 11 girl and her larger male partner. And Caritas knew that the president had looked at him, for whilst the president swept his gaze, he also turned his head around, so each pair of tributes saw his face as he glanced at them, including Amelia and Caritas. The moment the president’s eyes landed upon Caritas, a sudden sense of lifting overtook him, as if he had suddenly risen to a higher point, as if he had been touched by a soft, caressing, divine hand and blessed to rise from the ranks of the sub-humans and into a godlike creature, just like the president. Caritas’s chest swelled as he felt this lifting, as he felt the tingling, thrilling sensation in his spine, as his heart thudded in his chest, and his mouth convulsed into a great, grand, shining smile.
As the president looked away from the chariot, and proceeded to turn his back on them and leave the portico, the chariots were promptly thrust forward by their horses, who began to move dutifully into the training station. Promptly, with the lifting feeling still warming his blood pleasantly and making his heart quiver with absolute glee, Caritas swung his head around to Amelia – whom he still felt tentative about allying with, but still considered her a worthy friend – to see and inquire if she felt the same way as he had when the president had looked at them; however, the moment he turned his head, the question fell from his lips, as did the smile, and the eager, curious light in his eyes was killed instantaneously. For, whilst Caritas had been with his stylist and had situated himself in his chariot, Melpomene had managed to procure a seat in the front row, right next to the training center; and it was her sad, tragic face that Caritas saw, not Amelia’s. And he could not look away; for her stare was completely fixated on him, and a subverted version of that hollow tragedy had appeared in her eyes, but, somehow this version was worse: for this still had life behind it, but this bore a life that was meaningless, that was ravaged, that knew no freedom, no altruism, nor even egoism: it was an expression that was meaningless, that could bear no meaning even if it dared to, for it truly was dead, but somehow living. Its only purpose was mutilation; its only purpose was the discredit of itself; its only purpose was to serve as a colorful pet to a higher being. And Caritas could feel that look of pain be branded into his mind, his heart, and, somehow, his altruism.
(ooc: I'd just like to comment on how much of a b*tch it was to finally finish this post. Seeing as how I kept losing the last part of it cause my computer's the world's largest ass-hole. But anyhoodle.
YAAAAAY FOR BEING THE FIRST FINISHED OPENING CEREMONY POST!! YAAAAAAAY! xD
And I'd just like to say that Cari is now literally Hitler...yay for meme references...)
When it was announced by the escort that they’d be arriving soon, Caritas had been practically flying with euphoria. He zipped from one end of the car to the other, in a sort of swift pace, his muscles twitching and itching with energy; and the smile on his face was large and unbreakable. Caritas thought not of his district partner, and the problems she had presented to him yesterday during the reaping; he thought not of his impending demise a week from now; he thought not of the other tributes, nor of what had been commented on them by his mentor(s) and escort during the reaping, nor of the fact that there were several other children that were younger than he; all that concerned him at that point in time was the Capitol: the wonderful land that built this utopia called “Panem”. Caritas thought of the president, and how magnificent it would be if he looked down from his perch and smiled at Caritas – and directly at Caritas. But the moment he thought this, Caritas suddenly stopped his pacing and zipping, and became stiff and erect, his iced eyes staring at the wall in some fixated, blank, glassy manner. Caritas Devhish, a very stern, very baritone voice hissed in his mind: you are a selfish, decadent bourgeois. You are too self-centered. You are immoral; a failure to this golden utopia of suffering! What of the other children, eh?! You are being unfair to them in your selfishness! If there were any lashes about, I’d order you to scourge yourself. Be ashamed! Ashamed! Ashamed!
Thus Caritas’s shoulders heaved, and his head sagged, and he shuffled over to a sofa and sat heavily down upon it in defeat. And he stayed like that till their arrival.
Every now and again, Caritas peeked from the corner of his eyes at the window, to see if the Capitol was in sight yet. After several, rather impatient glances, he spotted the first ivory tower upwardly slashing the sky. The moment he saw this, he forgot of his rue-plagued, self-afflicted punishment, and squealed with excitement, and flung from the sofa and at the window. He spread his thin fingers outward, and pressed his palms against the glass, as if trying to push the window and dive out the train; he shoved the tip of his nose against the window, and his eyes bugged in their sockets. Soon, the individual tower became a thousand towers; glowing, triumphant skyscrapers shooting from the earth and piercing into the sky’s underbelly in an almost mocking, defiant way – like a revolutionary as he sticks a knife into a tyrant’s chest, laughing in the despot’s face all the while. And Caritas shook as he watched the mammoth spears, for the only buildings he thought existed were hovels; and to see such marvels of man – to see the evidence of man’s worth – at how much wonder and splendor was built from man - made chills scamper up and down his spine, and his face paled, and his body tensed, as if he were facing down an enemy. Then, suddenly, he stiffened; and color was returned to his face as he realized: What city is this? The president’s city! So, then, everything within is the president’s – including the skyscrapers! And a large grin that wrinkled his young face spread across, and he chuckled a little to himself. This is not a work of man – this is the work of the president! Just like everything else in Panem!
It was then that Caritas realized how much belonged to the president; for, even when he twisted his head about from one side to another, he could not see the edge of the Capitol.
Darkness suddenly slashed off the view of the Capitol, and Caritas flinched, and fidgeted with anxiety, for he feared that he would not get a chance to see the Capitol’s glory again. Fortunately, the darkness jerked to an abrupt end in the matter of ten seconds; and then only color swarmed Caritas’s vision. For before him lay a surging, rainbow mass, that flickered and screamed in approval and twitched ecstatically. He thought he saw hands shoot up and flourish from the mass and flourish excitedly – but surely hands could not be gilded? Or green? Or blue? Or purple? Or all of those colors combined? Perhaps the hands belonged to some unfortunate souls whose extremities had been stained by the rainbow sea? But – but wait! Caritas squinted, and pressed his face closer to the glass, till his forehead smudged the glass and his nose was sandwiched between the window and his face. Those aren’t – oh no – those aren’t…human faces…are they?
His stomach quivered and sloshed within him; and he thought that a block of ice had been set against his spinal column. He wanted to look away; however, his horror was paralyzing, and his muscles were stiff and tense in their fear; the only corporal parts of him that moved were his hands, which shivered against the window. Caritas’s lips were parted, forming a small, very round hole in his face; and as he looked on, it grew and grew, becoming a very wide cavity that breathed a pale gray film on the glass. He saw men who looked like birds; men who looked whose faces had been stretched into strange, abnormal, eye-catching shapes; and each man wore such bright, such wretched, such decadent, such rich clothing that the very sight of it made Caritas wish to throw himself upon the floor and weep as if he had watched his entire family be slaughtered. No! This is not my government; these are not my presidents! No! No! NO! NO!
Caritas didn’t know how feeling and ability came into his muscles; somehow, by the power of his own will perhaps, he began to move stiffly backward, like a rusted robot. In the same manner, he pressed his palms against his ears, and his body bent forward. These…these are my…my presidents…no…how…no one ever looked so…disgusting…ARISTOCRATS! ARISTOCRATS! ARISTOCRATS! RICH BOURGEOIS! OUT TO EAT – OUT TO GET – OUT TO KILL – RIGHT OUTSIDE THE - no! Calm! Calm! Answers…reasons…no such thing as an illogical, extravagant government…no. No! Those guys out there can’t be my presidents! No! Some – some of them looked like animals…maybe…maybe they’re the president’s…pets? And, suddenly, all was right with the world. His body jerked upward, and he threw his shoulders back, and he lifted his head triumphantly, happily, contentedly. His hands were no longer upon his ears; rather, they were curled into fists, and were set firmly atop his hips; and he thrust his chest out. That’s it! The president’s pets! Of course! Of course! And he sent them out to greet us! Aw! He’s such a sweet guy! And he returned to the window with a spring in his step, and waved his hand at the rainbow mass, and beamed at them in a very open, winsome way; and he did not think about how he had so easily turned those men into domesticated animals.
*
Caritas was very calm when he arrived at his prep station; calm enough, in fact, that he found himself very observant of the trio of the president’s pets that had suddenly bounded forward to him upon his arrival, and circled him like a threesome of hungry, rainbow-colored vultures, and herded him over to where they would be cleansing him and clipping him and painting him. They all gave him very cheery greetings, and who appeared to be the leader of the trio – a husky, sturdy man, with confidence and assuredness glinting his gilded eyes and reappearing often in his smile (and he smiled often; a trait that got on Caritas’s nerves a little, for he could not understand the reason behind any of the man’s smiles, and though Caritas knew that the older male was merely another foolish, silly pet without morals, it was hard to forget that one of the many sins of his philosophy was to be happy without a reason) – introduced them all: he was Jupiter; a woman with vibrant pink skin and moved and spoke with great, wide embellishes and had a fixed smile that took up most of her face, and whose hair glinted gold and silver was called Thalia; the other woman, who wore thick, black clothes, and whose hair and skin were a dark purple, and whose shoulders habitually sagged, and had a heavy, permanent scowl and wide, pitiful, pleading, pained eyes fixed onto her face was known as Melpomene. They did not force him to introduce himself, and in fact encouraged him to never speak his name to them, for they had seen his reaping, and congratulated him many times for the willingness and joy and enthusiasm he had brought to the camera, for many tributes – as Thalia reported – were often very grumpy and paradoxical to Caritas’s reaction to being reaped, and often inflicted there negativities upon their poor prep team. “That’s what we are you know! A prep – prep – prep – prep – prEEEEeeep team!” Thalia had cheered, her pink arms flourishing in the air. “But I’m sure you’re not going to be like that, I know it, I know it! I saw you, all smiling, all happy – just like meeeeEEEeeee! Oh, oh, you’re going to be wonderful! You’re going to be SWELL! Oh, oh, oh!” And she enveloped him tightly in her vibrant arms tightly.
Caritas was very happy and felt fortunate that they did not force him to say his name to them; for he did not feel that it was proper for such a respectable, morally affable fellow like him to speak to silly old pets.
Instead of forcing him to perform introductions, however, they did force him to remove all outer-wear, and lie prostrate on a metal table. Caritas did not mind this; for it would be doubly selfish for him if he did. For it is self-preference and vanity that causes people to be modest about their bodies, for they feel that it is such a precious resource that they ought to keep it and hide it from the rest of the world; also, it would have been insubordination for Caritas to become disagreeable to the prep team and refuse to undress, especially after Thalia had just willed him to be more pleasant than the majority of Caritas’s predecessors. So, as he was removing his shirt, Melpomene – who was watching him – leaned over to her more brightly-colored compatriot Thalia, and, keeping her voice so low that Caritas had to strain his ears, sighed: “Look at him! Everything’s gone to his height; and so young, too…” And Caritas flinched, and his heart dipped in shame, for he felt that he had become an emotional burden to Melpomene for causing her such woe. “That last one was so handsome and so much stronger and so much older…”
Thalia – who did not bother to keep the exchange private as Melpomene had, rather because her nature did not allow her to keep anything private – giggled in a very childlike, but somehow coquettish way (which was the usual way for her), and replied with an airy flourish of her painted hand: “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Melpy! Don’t you remember that guy died on the first day? Eee hee hee hee!”
Melpomene’s grim grown twisted further down her face. “Yes,” she breathed, “I suppose that even looks could not save him.” And she dipped her purple head, her eyelids closed, as if in a pause for mourning.
Thalia refused to absorb her friend’s melancholy. “Who knows, who knows!” she chirped. “Maybe all that youth and littleness’ll be just what saves this year’s! Eee hee hee hee eee!” She pressed her fingertips to her lips, a mouth that had stripes of varying neon colors painted onto it; her shoulders shook with mirth for a moment, and then she removed her hand from her mouth, her shoulders still trembling happily. “And, you know,” she said, her tone of voice portraying this addition as a highly pleasing afterthought, “you really shouldn’t count him completely – at least, not when we’re discussing looks. I mean, eee hee, just look at that face!” She made a brisk gesture with her hand in his direction, and then added very squeakily, as if she had was transforming into a mouse: “I just want to pinch those widdle cheeks! Eeeee hee hee hee hee eee hee!”
Melpomene’s sight followed Thalia’s arm, fixating itself onto Caritas; as she looked upon him, her wide eyes suddenly became very hollow, so lifeless that one would have thought that the eyeballs were only illusions, that there were truly only a pair of cave-like sockets set into a worn and sagging face. The moment Caritas’s eyes flickered upward and his eyes met hers, some strange instinct seized his muscles and made him turn away from her, for the sight had suddenly struck within him a sense of panic and worry, neither of which Caritas understood; and though he felt ashamed and very selfish for feeling this way about Melpomene, he could not force himself to turn around and look back at her. And his stomach cringed within him as he heard her heave out a long, agonized sigh, as if she had just crawled off a torture rack. It was then that Caritas decided that he hated her; he knew not why, but now that he had truly seen her eyes, and heard that awful sigh, something about her made him sicken, as if he had just looked upon a backward, opposing sin that had become palpable and seeable.
As he removed his clothes and laid his body against the table, he felt his stomach quiver and wallow in something sticky and thick and heavy that was threatening to consume it completely; and Caritas blamed Melpomene for this feeling, for the image of her absolute mourning and despair was burned into his mind.
*
Why did it bother him so much?
It had followed him. It had remained within him even when Melpomene and her comrades had left the room; it had been there to distract and misguide his thoughts as his stylist had entered a room (what he had been like, Caritas could not recall); and it was still there, haunting him like some shadowy, evil specter, hissing at him in some ghost-language that he knew not a word of, but somehow, he knew it was taunting him. What am I? Caritas decided it was spitting at him. What am I? What is my purpose? Why do you even care, Devhish? Am I not just a little pet? A little pet? A little pet?
Of course, the specter was right in every aspect: it was merely the creation of some stupid, mindless pet, who held no actual thought or emotion, but did and felt only what its master – the president – told it to. But still – what was this annoying titillation that irked and riled his heart? Why did he and that damn specter keep chanting, Why do you care? Why do you care? Why do you care? when some strange part of him that was chained to some strange area of his sweeping altruism that had been recently untouched and was still quite unexplored by its master kept screaming, Care, you little fool, care!
Caritas gnashed his teeth as he stepped into his chariot, and released a long, exasperated sigh through them. He wore his Opening Ceremony dress with expressed indifference, as he would with any of the clothes, for to care about clothing is to be vain and selfish, and thus sinful. Thus, he felt no embarrassment as he tottered in his chariot as if he was about to fall upon a flank, having been thrust into a heavy, fat orb of wool that his body had trouble maneuvering in, for the weight and circular shape made him very clumsy and liable to fall, even when he did not move. He wore a tight glove that had no fingers, but, rather, cloven hooves, and the glove stretched from his fingertips to the end of his upper arm, and was a very dull gray color; also, he wore tights of a slightly heavier material than the gloves, and went to the high point of his small thigh, and both of the tights’ feet had a compartment that was also made to look as if it was a hoof, in which Caritas his toes thrust into. Also, atop his head was a lid shaped very much like a baseball hat, and had wool glued all about the bill, and perched upon the dome of the hat were a pair of cloth ears that drooped at the tips, and were made to look as if it had been cut from a sheep’s head, though Caritas had silently thought that they were bunny ears, and thus had not realized when he had been trying the costume on – and, in fact, still did not realize, for his stylist had not disclosed his intentions to his tribute – he was meant to be a sheep; instead, he reasoned that he had been dressed up as a very fluffy bunny. And he did not mind this, for secretly, deep within his cold, hyper-altruistic heart, he had an intense affection for the rabbit species.
It took several minutes for Caritas and Amelia to make their debut; gradually, one by one, the tributes were carted from the long, high-roofed, corridor-like room that they were initiated at; and, with each pair of tributes that passed through the large, gilded gates of the corridor, a minute ticked by. Thus, it took nine minutes and a few seconds before the dun mares that bore their chariot lurched forward, moving at a graceful, brisk pace as they carried their burden before the amassed eyes of the president’s pets. It was all very sudden, really, the transition from a gray, long room, and into the color-filled streets of the Capitol; where the stones were of purged ivory, and banners and inspiring propaganda dangled proudly, regally, in their crimson and gold colors
However, Caritas did not notice this; instead, he was too busy with a new, lashing emotion that made him cringe beneath the collective gaze of those thousands of oddly colored eyes, for he knew not how to react them to. Not once in his life had he been subject to the stares of so many people, and he knew not how to cope with the attention. It was clear that the pets wanted him to react to it; they looked at him with such innocent pleading that Caritas could not help but feel self-scornful when he considered the possibility of simply ignoring them. However, what would the other tributes think of him if he should flourish his hand as gaily and freely as they did? Would they sneer at him, think he was an arrogant ass that was trying to usurp their rightfully claimed attention? Oh! Caritas would absolutely despise that! But yet…the pets…Caritas’s mouth twisted about as he glanced at them from the corner of his eyes, his head bowed in puzzled shame. Then, for a moment, two conflicting emotions were thrown into a coliseum that lay in his heart, and battled ferociously; however, both were matched together in strength and energy, and neither could defeat the other. So, in a convulsion of emotional confusion and vexation, Caritas’s arm suddenly jerked up, becoming a rigid, unmoving, slanted line in the air, with his fingers pressed tight together
Not once did Caritas lower his arm even an inch as the chariot moved; but once the mares slowed and they entered the half-circle shaped plaza that lay before the training center and assumed the chariot into position beside the District 9 children and the fellows from District Eleven, Caritas lowered it very eagerly, for it had grown very numb and heavy and hard to hold up, and it flopped against his side listlessly. Caritas tilted his head upward, and immediately, his face became pale, and his eyes became wide and his mouth fell open, in such an awestruck way that one would have thought that he had caught a glimpse of God’s face in the sky. However, it was not God that Caritas had seen, though, in his mind, it was a being very close in power to God, if not more powerful: and this being was the president. He smiled down at the tributes from a stone portico, his mouth thin and gracious, and he promptly proceeded with his speech of welcome.
Caritas would walk away from the Opening Ceremonies with not one word of the president’s speech residing in his memory; for his mind had been too preoccupied praying over and over again, Let him look at me! Let him look at me! Oh, please, let him look at me! For Caritas felt that should the president just simply glance in his direction, then, maybe, some of his political divinity would rub off on him. And, promptly, for it was a short speech, Caritas’s prayers were happily answered in the affirmative: for, just as the president was finishing speaking, his gaze swept over each of the tributes, starting from District 1 and moving down, till finally, it was atop of Caritas, and then moving onto the little District 11 girl and her larger male partner. And Caritas knew that the president had looked at him, for whilst the president swept his gaze, he also turned his head around, so each pair of tributes saw his face as he glanced at them, including Amelia and Caritas. The moment the president’s eyes landed upon Caritas, a sudden sense of lifting overtook him, as if he had suddenly risen to a higher point, as if he had been touched by a soft, caressing, divine hand and blessed to rise from the ranks of the sub-humans and into a godlike creature, just like the president. Caritas’s chest swelled as he felt this lifting, as he felt the tingling, thrilling sensation in his spine, as his heart thudded in his chest, and his mouth convulsed into a great, grand, shining smile.
As the president looked away from the chariot, and proceeded to turn his back on them and leave the portico, the chariots were promptly thrust forward by their horses, who began to move dutifully into the training station. Promptly, with the lifting feeling still warming his blood pleasantly and making his heart quiver with absolute glee, Caritas swung his head around to Amelia – whom he still felt tentative about allying with, but still considered her a worthy friend – to see and inquire if she felt the same way as he had when the president had looked at them; however, the moment he turned his head, the question fell from his lips, as did the smile, and the eager, curious light in his eyes was killed instantaneously. For, whilst Caritas had been with his stylist and had situated himself in his chariot, Melpomene had managed to procure a seat in the front row, right next to the training center; and it was her sad, tragic face that Caritas saw, not Amelia’s. And he could not look away; for her stare was completely fixated on him, and a subverted version of that hollow tragedy had appeared in her eyes, but, somehow this version was worse: for this still had life behind it, but this bore a life that was meaningless, that was ravaged, that knew no freedom, no altruism, nor even egoism: it was an expression that was meaningless, that could bear no meaning even if it dared to, for it truly was dead, but somehow living. Its only purpose was mutilation; its only purpose was the discredit of itself; its only purpose was to serve as a colorful pet to a higher being. And Caritas could feel that look of pain be branded into his mind, his heart, and, somehow, his altruism.
(ooc: I'd just like to comment on how much of a b*tch it was to finally finish this post. Seeing as how I kept losing the last part of it cause my computer's the world's largest ass-hole. But anyhoodle.
YAAAAAY FOR BEING THE FIRST FINISHED OPENING CEREMONY POST!! YAAAAAAAY! xD
And I'd just like to say that Cari is now literally Hitler...yay for meme references...)
