Mistress Dizzy

Poem of the Bladed Nightingale [Skull & Mistress Dizzy]

Jin was surprised and pleased as Prince Hotaru recovered his composure. She bowed low as he got up and thanked her, and she found herself smiling.

“You left your homes and now I have left mine, but we will return. I will come back, and I will protect what is ours. I swear it!”

She felt chills as the Prince stood up straight and declared his future. She saw his parents in him, proud and courageous and strong. She embedded this moment in her memory, for the next time she started to worry about the Prince. Yes, he was a child, but he was also their future Emperor, born for the role. No better had it shown than right now. Jin found herself deeply proud of him, as if she really were his aunt.

“Well done, my Prince.” She whispered as she bowed deep, nose toward the floor. “Well done.”

-

After seeing the boy to bed, Jin stayed awake with Ishawari. She was doing push ups in a slim robe, in her usual nightly effort to keep her body trim and ready. Ishawari’s farm work kept his muscles up, but Jin’s plant gathering left her full of energy most nights.

“51, 52, 53...” She counted softly as Ishawari went over his day. Her heart sped as he mentioned a dead body, but she let out a relieved breath once she understood the truth of the situation. It was a shame about the old drunk, but it could have been far worse.

“Well – 54 – Kana and I had our usual walk this evening. Luckily she’s easy to get talking. I give her and inch and off she goes about the village business.” 55, 56. “So far, there’s been nothing. The Hoshikawa’s are having another child, and bets are on whether it will be their fourth boy, or a girl this time. There was a scuffle at the port, and Ogawa-san who lives by the temple is now in prison. There’s a collection for his family, for those who want to donate. Kana has heard of no one new in town besides us, and all is well.” She exhaled slowly, wiping beads of sweat from her forehead.

“It’s too quiet, Ishawari. My mind goes from disaster to disaster at night, and it’s all I can do to sleep. I keep wondering when the next attack is going to be.” She lapsed into silence, counting push ups in her head for a while.

“In any case, we’ve got 5 more days until we’re to meet the mysterious ferryman at the Wilting Blossoms. I am going to miss this place. Maybe one day, we can return.” She smiled a bit at the thought. Imagine having a normal life like a normal woman, just her and Ishawari and a few rambunctious children -

Her brain halted that train of thought immediately. Now was not the time for dreams that could never come true.

The Hunger Games: Price of Victory

I was startled to be hugged so suddenly. But I remembered that Capitol folk were just like that - very touchy feely. I wasn't sure if I liked this, but my heart was pounding.

"Sam." Slowly, very slowly, I hugged him back. "You saved my life. Thank you. But - I just, I just have to know... Why?" Why choose me of all people? Did he always bet on the Games? Or maybe he saw something different in me?

"What prompted you to save my life?"

The Hunger Games: Price of Victory

The rest of the interview passed in a blur of light and sound. Soon I was shuffled backstage, makeup reapplied and dressed smoothed, to be presented to my sponsor. I genuinely wished they could have brought my parents instead. Instead, I was brought before the red-haired boy.

"Ah... h-hello." I didn't know what to say. "My name's Jetta." I chuckle weakly. "But I guess you know that. Um... What's your name?"

The Hunger Games: Price of Victory

Caesar Flickerman’s voice echoed through televisions across Panem.

“And now, here she is! Your Victor, Jetta Riti!”

The crowd clapped, whooped and cheered as I made my way onstage. I was wearing the soft, pale lavender dress that my stylist had picked for me. My short, black hair was curled at the tips as well. She said it would soften my edges, whatever that meant. Flickerman was wearing pale pink this year, which wasn’t a bad color in Jetta’s view. However, she sort of thought it made him look like a piglet, which was a thought she kept buried to keep a smile on her face.

“Jetta, take a seat. Well, all eyes are on you, Victor, and I’m sure you must be proud of yourself.”

“Yes, Caeser, I am proud. I brought glory to my District." This was a line personally forced upon me by my organizer, Sienna. The lie tingled my lips. "I can’t wait to see my family and my home again.” This was at least true.

“Ah, someone’s homesick. They’ll be waiting for you when the train arrives. Would you like to say anything to your family back home?”

I blinked, not realizing I’d be on the spot like that. “Um, yeah, actually. Thank you for getting me that parachute with the antidote. I would have been lost if not for you.” I knew that Corolla had been behind that. He was a cook, a great one, someone who knew the plants of D6 forward and back. When I’d gotten poisoned by some strange fruit in the arena, he knew just what to send to snap me out of it and save my life.

“Speaking of lost, you came very close to losing yourself.” Caeser looked to the screen as footage from my final battle started to play. There I was, missing the fatal back blow, and there I was, being choked out. The knife was too far away for me to reach, and I was grasping at air. Then, just there, a second knife appeared just by my fingertips. I grabbed it, and – I had to look away from the screen for the rest of it.

“But, how did that happen? I should’ve been a goner.”

“Ah, that’s a surprise to us all. A last minute – literally – sponsorship to buy you a knife, and your life.”

I was surprised to find my eyes welling up with tears. “Oh wait. Not supposed to cry, I’ll ruin my mascara.” Evidently I had said something hilarious, as the crowd and host both cracked up at my comment.

“As a special treat, we’ve brought him here to meet you.”

The spotlights swung around to a red-haired boy in the crowd. He barely looked older than me. I wondered why he’d shown me such mercy.

“You’ll be meeting him personally after the show! Isn’t that great?”

"Yes, Caeser. That is great!" For once I wasn't lying.

The Hunger Games: Price of Victory

-The next day-

My throat was still raw as the prep team made me over, for the second time this month. They're working on covering my bruises with makeup and doing up my hair, trying to hide the various wounds and scars I received in the arena. They chattered away about the other Tributes and their favorite kills, while I do my best to block it all out. I can't help but shiver. The look on his face - Neptune - the last boy I killed. He had a score of 11, I remembered that from training. He should have won, shouldn't he? I remembered his strength, his hands wrapped around my slender throat, his eyes boring down with a wild and panicked fury.

I felt my stomach churn, so I try to push the too-fresh memories away.

Instead I thought of home. All of District 6 will be waiting for me. I don't really care about all of them, frankly. Just two. My fathers Corolla and Piston will be the first in line to congratulate me when I'm taken home. I won this for them, because I had to go home. I had to. I had to.

The 5 kids you killed had to go home too, Jetta.

That echoes around inside my head for a while, too long for me to stop. I felt my eyes welling up with tears.

"Ah, ah! None of that, darling, you'll ruin your mascara." One of the prep team, I think her name is Fitz, or Fizz, or something with an F, gently chides me. "You're on with Caeser Flickerman in thirty minutes. Now let's get you dressed."

My stylist, Aristotle, has picked out a beautiful, purple flowered gown for me to wear. I swear I can still feel the hot blood coating my hands as I stared at it. I don't deserve this. I'm a murderer. Why don't they see that?

Something in the chatter pricks my ears up. "-and you'll get to meet your sponsors and do autographs!"

"What sponsors? Besides D6, who sponsored me?" My voice is still a little hoarse.

"You'll see, darling, you'll see. Now, let's get you into that dress, Jetta."

The Hunger Games: Price of Victory

This was the moment everyone had been waiting for. The Capitol, nearly as a whole, were glued to their television screens. Final bets flew back and forth, as the 77th Hunger Games neared it’s gory end. 24 Tributes entered, and now it was down to just 2. Which one would reign victorious? Even the Gamemaker and his cronies stared through the hundreds, maybe thousands of cameras around the area, waiting for the two to finally encounter one another. They had already done their part with strategically placed bombs, ringing the outside of the area and forcing the tributes ever inward, toward each other.

This year, they had gone from a theme of the past. A war zone. The arena had been filled with devastating, but not quite lethal land mines. It hadn’t stopped raining inside since the game began. There were landslides in one area, missiles from above in the next, and the whole place was ringed by a large trench, that they could easily fill with water if a tribute got too cozy. The tributes themselves were fitted with camouflage gear and dog tags from ancient days.

The tribute from District 6 had collected 4 such tags. She was currently moving through the dense underbrush of the bushes, a large, bloodied hunting knife clutched in one hand. The Cornucopia had a white flag on it, making it stand out like a beacon amid all the muck and rain. It was the only place that would be dry, and she knew that. Now to get there before the other tribute did.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to happen. Just as she had, the male from District 4 was going toward the Cornucopia from the opposite side, and he was bigger and moving faster. All that District 6 had going for her was the element of surprise.

District 4 popped out first, his gear coated with mud and worse. He reached the Cornucopia and marveled at how dry it was. Eagerly, he started to ring out his soaking wet clothes. The sound of the rain not 10 feet away masked the rustle of the bushes. District 6 was on her way.

“Here it is… the final confrontation.” Caeser Flickerman and his partner watched on the giant screen behind them, priming the Capitol crowd for one last kill.

District 6 popped out of the bushes, and took a running leap at District 4’s back. Her small size made this easier than most, and she drove her knife into his back. Alas, she missed the heart by several inches. The other District flipped her off his back, and to the ground. Then he wrapped his hands around her slender neck. She started to gasp and claw at him, grasping for air and the knife that had fallen away. Her vision was going red. Suddenly, she grasped the handle of the knife, and drove it into the side of other tribute’s neck. He released her immediately, but she kept going, stabbing and stabbing until he no longer moved and she was covered in blood.

A cannon fired.

And she began to scream.

“That’s it – that’s it! Panem, we now present to you the winner of the 77th Hunger Games! Your Victor! Jetta Riti!”

The Hunger Games: Price of Victory

And here we go.

Mistress Dizzy's lame thread (1 x 1)

boop

Poem of the Bladed Nightingale [Skull & Mistress Dizzy]

This was not the first time that Jin had heard Ishawari’s story. It was, however, the first time he’d had an audience of 2. It never failed to surprise her. He was a born warrior, in and out, but he was always so calm and collected, and well, normal. Worse fighters than he walked around like they were the Emperor with a blade, so how could Ishawari be so humble? Heck, even Jin raised her head with beaming pride whenever she won a match.

But then, their circumstances were different, weren’t they? Ishawari had never said quite as much, but Jin knew there was something deeply unhappy about his past. Why else would he leave a village full of proud warriors to travel Majima? Jin never would have left home if not for losing her parents. But then, perhaps the Golden Weaver of Fate had a plan for them both, even then.

When the story was mostly over, Jin was about to open her mouth and start a old debate about the presence of magic in Majima. But before the words passed her lips, Prince Hotaru was in her arms, bawling.

“Oh, oh dear...” Instinctively, Jin wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. What else could she do? The Prince was facing circumstances no child should have to deal with, and he’d held up remarkably so far. So, what were tears for an 8 year old? Perfectly normal, that’s what. Jin held him and let him cry. She looked back at Ishawari, her own eyes brimming with tears. It hurt to hear that kind of pain.

When the tears started to subside into little hiccups, Jin finally spoke.

“My dearest Han, I am so proud of you. Ishawari is as well. I am certain your father is as too, and your sweet mother in heaven looks down upon you with love. You are doing wonderfully. I can’t imagine how much your heart must hurt by leaving your home and family behind. But can I tell you a secret?”

There was a muffled “uh huh” from the folds of Jin’s kimono.

Jin dropped her voice conspiratorially. “No one can hold a burden forever.”

There was silence, then the Prince looked up confusedly at Jin. “What do you mean?”

“Well, think of it this way. Imagine that you are carrying a very large rock. It does not seem heavy at first. But as the miles go on, it gets heavier and heavier. Your arms shake and your back hurts, and finally you must set it down.” She thought a moment, trying to explain the best she could.

“But when you look back, you have carried the rock all this way, without stopping. And now, you must rest. Everyone has to lay down their burdens sometimes. This does not mean you are weak. It means you are strong, and it means you are human.” Jin gazed down at Hotaru. “Promise me. When it hurts too much to bear, when you can’t hold the tears back anymore, you come to us. Alright? We will not judge you.”

Hotaru looked at Jin for a long time. She wondered just what was going through his little mind.

Finally he spoke. “Thank you, Akemi-san. I will do that.” There was a fierce little fire in his eyes, one that reminded Jin so much of Empress Chigusa. Then he rubbed his wet face on his sleeve, and Jin remembered that for all his fire, he was still just a boy.

Poem of the Bladed Nightingale [Skull & Mistress Dizzy]

I'll get used to it. ;)