"The fallen angel" and "the devil in disguise"
Two names Ares Aristo was known for, a boy who had more to him than originally met the eye. Charming the capital with his kind facade, it was only in the games did they realized just how far an angel ca...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨.
( play my cards right )
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
All eyes fell on the boy with golden hair as he emerged from the sea of young boys, each secretly relieved that it wasn't their fate that was being toyed with. On the outside, the only thing telling that Ares Aristo was going out of his mind with ice-cold shock and horror, was how wide his stormy eyes seemed to be as he tried to stave off the onslaught of tears before they could fall down his cheeks and betray his every emotion to the entirety of Panem watching. He was in the games now, and there was no denial left to have. The last thing he wanted was to be pitied.
No, it was better to look calm. As if his life wasn't already over.
Not to mention the fact that his poor grandmother would be watching from home. Ares had to save face if not for himself, for her. He couldn't bear the thought of her being forced to witness anything less than dignity during his last moments in the district.
He stared through his cloudy vision at Velvet's delighted face and Pandora Lancaster's sobbing one, then at the man who would soon be his mentor slumped down in his chair. Callum Mikaels gave Ares an unamused look as he walked to the stairs, and suddenly, he had the urge to run. There was no doubt that he'd get caught, considering the vast fields of wheat surrounding the district that offered slim escape routes and nowhere to hide out in the open. But maybe he could somehow manage to get shot in the head on his way out by a peacekeeper with bad aim. If not that, then perhaps he'd be able to grab the gun himself and finish the job for them.
Or, a more sinister thought crossed his mind. Maybe if they caught him physically, he could put up such a fight that they'd have no choice but to bash his head in to silence his shouts. Just like they did to seventeen-year-old Tommy Wright back when Ares was just six years old and the naive teen had run at a peacekeeper with a knife.
But Ares dismissed the gruesome thoughts as fast as they'd come, blinking away the tears of vulnerability and injustice in favour of transforming his face into what could be seen as apathetic. When he turned back around to face the crowd, the mask was on.
"Two pretty tributes, how fitting," Velvet muttered into the microphone under her breath. Ares chose to ignore her words, opting instead to once again seek out his father's face. It was out of instinct, to look to the man for comfort. But as soon as he did, and saw the expression of devastation that he'd only just gotten over himself, he had to quickly avert his gaze elsewhere in case he too broke down. But when all the faces looking back at him were different varied expressions of grief, he had no choice but to direct his gaze into the lens of the camera.
Instead of staying impassive, he let a small placating smile grace his lips, knowing his Grandmother would be watching and weeping if she hadn't passed away from the fright of it all. No tribute has ever come back from hell to tell them what the process was like during the games, so he wasn't sure if they'd let him see her again, and he didn't want anyone's last memory of him to be his tear-stained face.
