Chapter Text

Chapter Eight

Parrot was no stranger to cameras. Every year, there were dozens aimed at the town square for the Reaping. Not at him, though. Never at him. Always at the people on the stage. At the mayor. At Minute. At Squiddo. At the other two live victors. Not at him, though. Never at him. 

This year was different. He was a tribute. He was in the Council. He was going to die. And he was, strangely, okay with that. Because his death meant his brothers got to live another year. Theo would be safe. Wifies would be… he would be better. They would move into the Victors’ Village, have food, running water, electricity, and Wifies would work in the forest. Like Spoke did. Minute could replace him, maybe. Hold Theo and Wifies as they cried. Wifies could be a Spoke for Minute. In Parrot’s mind, this was proof that they didn’t need him.

These were his thoughts as he got dressed for leaving the metal refuge, pulling on a plain, tan dress shirt and dark brown flowy pants. The fabrics were light, soft, something that he had never known existed before three days ago. At Jumper’s suggestion, he draped small gold chains over his wings, winding them gently so they laid over his marginal coverts. They added a nice shimmer to the green-and-blue feathers. 

When he exited the room, Squiddo was standing outside, probably waiting for Theo. She took a look at Parrot’s outfit and nodded approvingly. “Did Jumper help you with the chains? They look nice.”

“They were her idea, yes.” Despite Squiddo helping them all those years ago, he was still a little wary. There was no knowing what the Council could do to someone. 

“I’m glad you listened. Last year’s tributes didn’t listen to a single one of our suggestions. Even with planning. Ash and I” Parrot vaguely recalled Squiddo’s husband, Ashswag, another victor, “tried to help. We really did. But they did the exact opposite.” Oh. That explains- “They both ran straight into the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Careers cut them down.” 

He remembered those Games perfectly well. It was the first one where Wifies was actually old enough to understand what was happening. Old enough to understand that he could’ve been going there the next year. It was the first time he had seen Theo openly cry. Before, it had always been small, muffled sobs in the corner of their bed, curled up with his knees to his chest. He hadn’t let Parrot comfort him. But when the anthem played on that first night, and a twelve-year-old’s face was projected into the artificial arena sky, he had broken.

~~~

The sun set over the arena on the first day. The cannons had fired so many times. Eleven times. And they had to watch all of it. They always got the first day of the Games off. To “kick off the festivities” they said. Really, it was just another way for the Council to torture the Districts. A full day of watching children slaughter each other knowing full well that next year, it could be them. 

Wifies was staring blankly at the floor, seemingly in shock from what he had seen. The past few years, his brother hadn’t really understood the Games. He cried when Theo cried, he hugged back when Parrot clung to him. But this year, it seemed he knew exactly what they represented. 

Parrot crept up behind him and embraced his little eleven-year-old brother. Crescent had stiffened, perhaps put on edge by the brutal murders of the tributes in the arena, and then melted, burying his face in his older brother’s shoulder and sobbing. Parrot’s lashes were heavy with unspilt tears, but he blinked them back. He needed to be there for his brother, even if it wrecked him. 

Theo was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bedframe. His head was buried in his arms, which were on top of his knees. The sight broke Parrot’s heart, seeing his normally strong and confident brother like that. But for now, at least, Theo could handle himself. 

They were interrupted by the anthem blaring through the silence of the arena. The notes were haunting, lingering on the wind, hanging by the threads of sound and life and soul, staying just long enough to hurt. The melody of Asteriktos itself, woven with blood and sweat and tears and betrayals. And then- something else. A harmony. Not clashing, just… there. Adding onto it. Like a lily pad’s flower, or the tiny red veins in a leaf. The tiny spots of pollen in a cornflower, the purple sheen of obsidian. A little bit of life in an arena of death. A human voice. 

The camera zoomed in on a tree. A little girl. Only fourteen. Reina Drop. A blue jay hybrid. She was… singing. Her eyes were closed, fists clenched, tears dripping down her cheeks. Her small chest heaved, belting out the notes with fervor, passion, even. Her voice cut through the night, heavy with sobs and cracking occasionally, but it was none less beautiful. 

“Under the moon, that stormy night

Together we danced

Together we shared

Together we shed all the memories we had

Nothing could make me forget you

Even through my death

I’ll forever see you

Rain pelting through our clothes

Splashing into puddles

You said you didn’t care

Forever I’ll regret

I’m sorry I said I love you

Those blossoms were so beautiful

I just can’t bear to remember

Remember what you told me that night

Under the moon, that stormy night

Together we danced

Together we shared

Together we shed all the memories we had

Nothing could make me forget you 

Forget what you said

Even through my death

I’ll forever see you

Climbing trees ninety degrees up in the air

Pine needles digging into my hair

You picked them out

You said you didn’t care

Forever I’ll regret

I’m sorry I said I love you

Under the moon, that stormy night

Together we danced

Together we shared

Together we shed all the memories we had

Nothing could make me forget you”

She kept singing after the anthem ceased, shouting to the world about one night that she could never forget. And when she closed her mouth, rolled over, and fell asleep, what she did finally hit them. She had broadcasted her location to everyone nearby, yes, but she also touched their hearts. And she was going to die for it. 

Theo’s still body, limp against the bed, let out a sob. Just once. And Parrot, emboldened by what had just happened, opened his mouth. And he started to sing as well, voice high and soothing, leaving gaps in the melody that their parents were supposed to fill. 

“Deep in the meadow, under the willow

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow

Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes

And when again they open, the sun will rise.”

It was something their mother used to sing, gentle, tanned hands stroking through Wifies’ hair and Parrot and Theo’s wings, picking out loose feathers and combing through them until they shone, murmuring, “You’re safe, you’re loved.” 

“Here it's safe, here it's warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.”

It was something their father used to sing, rough, scratchy voice grating out each stanza with difficulty, but he did it anyway. Comforting them from nightmares of the Games or of losing each other, murmuring, “You’re safe, you’re loved.”

“Deep in the meadow, hidden far away

A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray

Forget your woes, and let your troubles lay

And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.”

It was something their parents used to sing, harmonizing, voices blending together seamlessly as they reminded their children that they were all together, that they were all safe and nothing could ever take them apart. 

The song was comfort, it was safety, it was saying ‘I’m here, you’re safe, you’re loved’. It was something they used to sing in better times. It was something they used to sing. Something they used to sing. 

Parrot hauled Theo off the ground, not caring about anything else except getting his brothers here, now, together. That they were all alive, and they were all there, and nothing could ever take them apart. He pulled his twin into an embrace, Wifies being sandwiched in the middle of them. And then Theo had cried, and Wifies had cried, and Parrot didn’t, because he had to stay and protect. 

“Here it's safe, here it's warm

Here the daisies guard you from every harm

Here your dreams are sweet, and tomorrow brings them true

Here is the place where I love you.”

~~~

Theo stepped out of his room, dressed in a leather jacket and black athletic bottoms with a white stripe running down the side. Sunglasses perched on his nose, silver necklace hanging from his neck, he looked every bit the feared Career. That all vanished into the air the moment he looked at Parrot. His eyes softened, his posture relaxed slightly, and a soft smile appeared on his face.

“Ready?”

Parrot laughed, a bit nervously. “Nope! You?”

“Never,” Theo quipped, waggling his eyebrows. 

“This is why I’m the biggest bird, bro.”

“You literally said you weren’t ready either!”

“Pfft,” Parrot said, waving his hand, “details are insignificant.”

“OH MY VOID-” 

“Ultimate crashout?”

“Shut up.” 

“Which is more important? Weight or mass?”

Squiddo sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with the expression of someone done with the world. “Can we lock in please?” 

Minute appeared, then, right behind Parrot. “The station is ready. Reporters everywhere looking to get a glance at the twin tributes. They love your story.” 

“We’re not toys to be used for their entertainment,” Theo said, eyes narrowing. “What Parrot did is none of their concern.”

“It’s a television show! They don’t care that you’re humans too. They just see District rats. Or Tributes.”

Parrot glanced out the window. Indeed, there were hundreds of Council people outside the train, cameras raised, clamouring to get inside the barrier of security guards. “Theo. We need to get outside before the crowd gets worse,” he said reluctantly, “I don’t want to go out there either, but Minute is right. Remember what you told me when we boarded? What Wato told you?” Theo nodded. “Okay. We have to go out there and make them remember us.” 

— — —

They managed to get past the crowds and into another car. 

From there, Parrot could see many people trying to look at them, pushing and shoving others with skin dyed green or cat ears or purple face paint. It was ridiculous. He had to try hard to keep a scowl off his face. 

The Council was horrible, filled with bright, flashing lights and colors that were all too saturated, and everything seemed so wrong. Life here wasn’t normal to him, but it was to them. Children grew up in this hell of a city without knowing that anything was wrong, living without the fear of being sent to a foreign place to die for others’ entertainment. It was so unfair it made Parrot sick. Who decided who would be sentenced to life in the Districts? Who decided who would be polished and pampered in the Council? 

It was all one big, huge, joke. Life. It was a mosaic, soldering the jagged edges of peoples’ hearts and souls together and hoping they stayed. Praying they were acceptable. And when they weren’t, they were smashed. Ground back into the very thing they were built of. All to do it again. 

— — — 

The prep time was torture, to say the least. Parrot was forced onto a chair while Spepticle, a man whose entire body was dyed bright red, messed with his hair, doing something he couldn’t see. Another man, with skin pale as moonlight and eyes dark as coal, was behind him, preening his wings. And the worst part was, the man was good. Parrot couldn’t help the pleased chirps he let out when the man (whose name was Saps) scratched a sensitive spot at the base of his wings or massaged a knot right at the joint. 

Preening was a huge act of trust and intimacy among avians, and Parrot had only let a few people even touch his wings. His mother, father, Theo, and Wifies. So the fact that some random Council stranger was able to make him completely melt was insulting. 

Once the people, who informed him that they were his ‘prep team’, left, he was left to sit there. They had ordered him to strip while they ‘fixed’ him, giving him only a thin white robe. And then they had abandoned him left, saying something about waiting for a stylist. 

At least he was alone. He felt… wrong, stripped of himself. His wings were pristine, his hair different, ruffled in a way that looked good. But still, it was wrong. He missed the days when his mother preened his wings, even when Theo did it, even though Theo was rough. He just wanted someone familiar. He wanted Wifies. He wanted Theo. He wanted Mama. He wanted Father. He wanted Minute. 

Loneliness was a peculiar thing, it was a growing pit in the midst of his chest, eating up anything and everything in its desire for sustenance. It desired things that were unreachable as of right now.