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#deva would be one of the first ( if not that first ) that patrick would reveal his thoughts to :'D
clemencetaught · 1 year
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@uroborosymphony sent in: #15 for Patrick, the victor || when the unspoken is named ( things you said prompt. )
15. things you said with rage between your teeth
"You can hear it too, can’t you?” It’s a rhetorical question, seeing that they’re the only ones in the room, this minimalist styled sitting room decorated with accents of black and gold. A room that the president has oh so generously decorated with them in mind. If not for the accents, Patrick imagines this would be a room that fit in the president’s own mansion.
A room that, if Patrick had any say in it, would burn down never see the inside of again.
He doesn’t remove his coat or deposit it on the rack as he usually does. But he does take a seat next to her on the couch. Deva is only a few inches away from him and perhaps in another life, the distance would make him wilt for fear of pressing on unspoken boundaries. However, he pays little regard if only because they have known each other for years on end and when they have watched the same spectacle, when they have served the pigs that revel in their suffering, when they have endured it all for years on end, an issue of decorum becomes miniscule.
“They’re not happy. The Districts.”
They never have been, the murmurs of disgruntlement having always been there for as long as he could remember. How those murmurs have always grown a tad louder when the reaping came around, followed by the mandatory viewings.
( Or maybe they’ve always been loud to begin with, only muted like a television with its sound turned to zero. Only muted by the propaganda and the soundproof walls the Capitol throws over them. Or even bitten back, tongue bitten. )
This year however.  With the announcement of the condition of the Third Quarter Quell, they’re no longer murmurs of dissatisfaction. No, it’s grown into something louder, stronger.
Something like screaming.
Not even the walls can keep them out.
“As a reminder to the districts that their rebellion has robbed their children of  a future, for this Quarter Quell, the male and female tributes shall be reaped from the existing pool of twelve years old.”
“I take it that One and Two aren’t happy about this either?” He can’t imagine they are; for even if they pride themselves on participation in the Capitol’s gleeful slaughterhouse, they would not dream of sending out A CHILD sorely untrained to represent them.
District Three for sure, isn’t. He’s seen it for himself too- the uprisings in factories all throughout District Three accompanied by the public whippings, the censorship of radio stations, and the taser sessions for those refuse to show up for work. And if he hasn’t seen it himself, then Hyuk would make sure he knew, most likely being one of the many of instigate much of the dissent.
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“I’ve been thinking.” The words come out clipped. “All these years, we’ve been slaves to his whims if only to keep the ones we love safe. He tells us if we do as he says, he won’t hurt them, he’ll let them live another day…but that’s a lie, isn’t it?” He leans forward, mouth covered by clasped hands. “He was never planning on keeping them safe. He’ll dangle their lives to wring us of all our use and once we have nothing left to give, he’ll throw them away along with us just like he has with everyone else. We’re not any better than the other victors; we’re just pawns to his board. And now because of our complacency, the children will pay the price to give our president his checkmate.” His hands tighten. “…I’m sick of it. I’m tired of being someone else’s chess piece.”
Eyes turn to her. They’re burning. “…What are your thoughts on playing A NEW GAME in the Capitol this year?”
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