Neon's Aesthetic
NEON WINTERMUTE
DISTRICT 3
M | he/him | 18 | Reaped
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Neon was your average boy from District Three. Never stood out too much, never had a whole lot of friends, but no enemies, which was something at least. One day, one of the few friends he had came by his house unannounced and found him trying on his sister’s dress. He made him swear not to tell anyone. His friend said he wouldn’t, but a couple days later, Neon became a social outcast, laughed at behind his back. He tried to embrace it, bought a bottle of bleach and used it to dye his mousy brown hair platinum. Tried to convince himself that it was okay. This illusion was quickly shattered when one day, after finishing work at the factory for the week, he was jumped by a group of boys on his way home. He knew them from school and knew that they had been hostile towards him. They beat him up. He was shaken, and showed up at the door of a young Peacekeeper, who’d been in the year above him at school. Battered and bruised, Neon begged him to teach him how to fight. He’d brought the Peacekeeper, Darin, a case of alcohol as payment, but pretty soon, their relationship became more than just teacher and student. No more alcoholic offerings, the promise of intimacy and something that felt like love taking its place. As the reaping approached, Neon had a sick, unrelenting feeling of dread that wouldn’t leave.
“I need you to teach me how to use a weapon,” Neon had said one day in Darin’s backyard, “in case I’m reaped.”
“You won’t get-“
“No, Darin.” Neon grabbed the man’s hand “I can’t explain it, but I’ve got a feeling.”
There was no proof and no evidence that the reapings were rigged, but the uneasiness ate away at him regardless. “You’re nuts.” Darin joked gently, but obliged, breaking off a branch from a tree to use as a makeshift sword and putting it in Neon’s hand.
THE REAPING
Neon slept poorly the night before the reaping; not even the feeling of safety and security that usually came with being in Darin’s arms was enough to put his mind at rest. He was haunted by that same feeling that prompted him to beg Darin, a Peacekeeper and his now boyfriend, to teach him how to fight. Neon was sure he was going to be reaped.
That morning, he went to see his parents and younger sister, Leela, for a family breakfast. They were always big on family and togetherness on this day; not saying anything about the hickeys on his neck or the fact that he was wearing a floral, women’s blouse to the reaping. Of course, the events of the past year were swept under the rug. Being abused by both the boys from the district and his own father, his mother’s weeping and pleading with him to “please, just be normal”, and his sister’s awkwardness, all forgotten. Everyone seemed to be just a little closer before the reaping.
“We’ll see you for dinner tonight, yeah?” Neon’s mother pulled him in for a tentative hug. She hesitated, before saying, “Bring Darin maybe?”
“Yeah... yeah, I can do that.” Neon mumbled, looking down at his shoes. If he made eye contact with his mum, he knew he’d crumble. He couldn’t tell her that he wasn’t sure there was any way he’d still be in the district later tonight.
His worst fears were confirmed when, as he stood amongst the other boys from his district, the sound of his own name being called broke the silence.
“Neon Wintermute.”
He was certain that almost every other slip in that bowl had that written on it too, but there was nothing he could do. Whispers and soft chuckles swirled around him as he made his way to the stage.
“Bet he doesn’t last five minutes in that arena.” A familiar voice laughed. Benji. One of the boys that had made this past year hell for him. Neon whirled right around and started marching in the opposite direction, away from the stage, as the whispers intensified and confusion moved through the crowd like a wave. He was aware of the Peacekeepers on his heels, ready to drag him to the capitol kicking and screaming if they had to.
Neon’s fist found Benji’s nose before he could stop himself, and he couldn’t help but laugh at the thought, when he recalled the events later, that maybe he’d broken it. Blood had poured from the other boy’s face, staining his crisp, grey shirt a bright red. Benji swore violently, nasty words flying from his mouth as Neon let himself be escorted to the stage. There was a dull ache in his knuckles, but he held onto that pain and let it ground him.
Neon's Reaping Outfit
THE TRIBUTE PARADE
Neon sneaks a quick look in the mirror, not wanting to seem vain, but HOT DAMN. Literally. His stylists have forced him and his district partner, Leoni, into matching metal... contraptions... his silver and hers gold. They catch the light of his flaming torch, shades of orange and red dancing across his body. It gives the illusion that he is wearing fire. Neon's leather pants are stupidly tight but he knows his butt looks amazing in them, and he wonders if Darin will think the same. This will be broadcast to the entire nation, of course.
At the last second, one of his stylists decides to wrap the knuckles of his right hand in a bandage.
“What's this for?” He questions. She gives him a look that suggests the answer is obvious.
“Your reaping, darling, you punched that boy?” She speaks slowly, never breaking eye contact. It makes him uncomfortable.
“It's not sore-”
She cuts him off, seeing that he still doesn't understand, “To remind the audience that you're a fighter?”
“Oh, right, right,” he nods quickly, and then their chariot is rolling out.
The lights. The cheering of the crowd. Leoni and him, side by side, warriors dressed in flame. People scream his name, delighted when he acknowledges them and waves. It's a rush that he hopes will never end. But of course, it does, and that's where the trouble starts.
He's stepped down off their chariot and is pretending to be listening to his stylists, studying the tributes around him, when he realises his bandage has gotten caught on the metal of his outfit. He fiddles with it, not wanting to ask for assistance, as everyone begins to clear the area. A small feeling of panic starts to rise up in him; he's only making it worse.
“Oh god, oh god,” he mumbles to himself. There's almost no one around and he's starting to feel alarmed.
“Need some help there?” A girl's voice laughs. He bristles, feeling his body tense up.
“I’m fine, thanks,” he huffs. The last thing he needs is to be perceived as weak and clumsy by the enemy.
“Stop struggling, you'll make it worse,” she offers gently, stepping towards him. He wants to snap at her, but knows she's right. He has made it worse. And he thinks to himself, that maybe if he drops the hostile act, he might make a friend.
Neon gives up, letting her outstretched hands close the distance between them. With careful movements, she manages to free the bandage from his outfit. His eyes meet her sweet brown ones, and he looks down, embarrassed.
“Thank you,” he says. Her smile is kind and he lets himself relax a little.
“It's no problem,” she replies, laughter in her voice. “I'm Korey.”
“I'm Neon,” he sticks his now-bare hand out to shake hers, and then for some reason, they're both laughing. He spies a small, rainbow pin that had been hidden on her outfit. Neither of them say anything about it, but he knows that she knows he’s seen it. Maybe they’re not so different.
Maybe he doesn’t have to feel so alone.
Neon's Parade Outfit
TRAINING
Neon Wintermute received a training score of 8.
Training Days
On the first day, Neon fights the urge to run over to the weapons immediately. He doesn't care about hiding his skills or not showing off, but he knows he needs to put some work into his survival skills. He could feel the chill of last year's winter wonderland of an arena through his television screen, and knows he probably wouldn't fare too well in the cold. He practices fire-making until it feels like second nature. He ties knots until his hands ache from the friction of the rope. He goes through edible plants until he's sure he won't go hungry in the arena, even if it means eating tree bark. The promise of a rich, Capitol lunch makes his stomach grumble. At least he won't have to forage for this meal.
Korey spots him and waves for Neon to come sit next to her. He grins, starting to walk over, but he's not about to ditch his district partner. Neon pauses, meeting Korey's gaze once again, and tilts his head in the direction of Leoni. Korey, who understands immediately, nods and smiles warmly, invitingly. They eat lunch together, and Neon feels his fondness for Korey grow stronger.
On the second day, Neon can't resist any longer. The familiarity of the weapons. Darin's expert hands, guiding his body into the correct stance and teaching Neon how to hold a sword. Granted, they used to practice with branches, but he almost finds the weight of an actual sword easier; almost like the branches were too light, like he was born to be armed and dangerous like this. He runs through simulations until he clears them perfectly, which admittedly, doesn't take him long. He duels with the instructor, impressing her and even himself, and then they practice hand-to-hand combat, which again, he excels at. His father taught him to take a beating without flinching. The boys from his district taught him to duck, dodge, and flee. But Darin taught him how to fight back, and he did a damn good job of it. Neon's thirst after sparring with the instructors has him realizing he needs to learn how to get water in the arena. He learns about water purification, waterborne disease and how to treat them, and how to find water sources. Then it's time for lunch and he finds that their lunch table has grown in size. He swallows nervously; he's never been popular. But he knows that allies are important, so he puts on a smile and engages with them. Korey gives his hand an encouraging squeeze under the table.
On the last day, Neon discovers his talent for throwing. When the last enemy in his simulation aims a holographic bow and arrow at him, he throws his sword without thinking. It slices the figure cleanly down the middle. This sparks something in him, and he spends a good portion of the morning hacking at two swords. It's a risk, he knows, that could end up being a massive waste of time. He's conscious of the gamemakers' puzzled looks and thinly veiled curiosity at his actions. Finally, he's welded them together, two blades connected by a single, misshapen handle.
He tests his new weapon eagerly in the throwing range, getting a feel for its weight, and begins throwing it at dummies, dislodging plastic limbs and leaving his weapon stuck in their heads. A gleeful laugh leaves his lips; his efforts have paid off.
He practices his aim with other throwing weapons, and finds that, whilst shurikens are comfortable, nothing feels as right for him as his double sword monstrosity does. He finishes up the day by revising his survival skills and brushing up on his first-aid.
Private Session
Neon takes a deep breath, holding his head high, and walks into the training centre like he owns the damn place.
“Neon Wintermute of District Three.”
He feels a rush of delight when he spots the modified sword waiting for him in the corner of the room where he left it. Neon grabs the weapon, feeling his excitement climb.
Neon steadies himself before starting the simulation. Darin. Do it for Darin. Make him proud.
He presses start.
Neon ducks and weaves expertly, delivering devastating uppercuts to the first two of his holographic foes. With a grunt, he slices through the stomach of the third. He throws his sword and it cuts right through number four and five simultaneously. He rolls to get his sword before delivering a swift kick to the legs of the sixth. It falls to the ground and he skewers it between the eyes with the end of his blade. Number seven runs at him with a mace, and Neon automatically throws the sword, which hits it square in the chest. The eighth, fists high, challenges Neon, who fakes a punch by its head to distract it and kicks it in the stomach. Neon lunges for his sword, slices its head clean off, then delivers the killing blow to the last two figures. Number nine gets sliced by one end of the sword, and, in the same, swift motion, he jabs behind him, and the tenth falls.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, he laughs, “Well that was fun!”
Neon marches over to the paint station and dips his finger into a brilliant red colour.
“But what if I'd been injured?” He smears the paint over his left arm. “Just a scratch. But we all know infection can be fatal.”
Neon demonstrates his first-aid knowledge by treating his “wound”. He's started going through edible plants when he notices the gamemakers are losing interest. He's running out of time. They want to see fighters, people the crowd will go crazy for. He needs to get their attention again somehow. He needs to get them involved.
“Ok,” He calls out to them, “now throw stuff at me.”
He registers the confusion on the gamemakers' faces and continues, “Come on! Best case, I get to show off , worst case, you get a good show.”
He's just heard the head gamemaker finish ordering more food when a chicken drumstick comes flying towards him. He ducks like his life depends on it, and into the path of some sort of soup. This is natural for him; he rolls out of the line of fire automatically. Salad, potatoes, even wine. All falling at his feet.
“How wasteful.” He jokes playfully, after ducking to avoid being clobbered by some sort of pastry. One of the gamemakers holds a steaming bowl of something. She throws it at him, dish and all, and he narrowly avoids it, his mind going back to his kitchen.
His father. Yelling. Drunk. Broken china all over the floor. His mum's screams. The unrelenting stream of various plates and bowls from his father's hands- how did they even have that many dishes?
Make him stop. Make him stop.
Before he's even realized what he's doing, there's a piece of the broken bowl in his hand. It takes half a second for him to realize where the next food item is coming from. A loaf of bread in the hands of a very pale man. He throws the piece of china. It intercepts the bread in midair, just as it's left the gamemaker's hand, and the two fall at the man's feet.
“That's enough now.” Neon forces the biggest smile he can onto his face, taking a bow.
“Neon Wintermute, everyone.” He reminds them, “Thank you.”
He maintains his confident demeanour for as long as humanly possible. The second he's left the room, he's having an anxiety attack.
THE INTERVIEW
Hello, you look dazzling tonight! Tell us about your outfit.
Thank you Caesar, I certainly feel dazzling! My stylist wanted to do something bright and bold and I was like, "Babe, my name is literally Neon. I was born to stand out, bitchezzz." *the audience laugh and cheer*
How do you like being in the Capitol so far? What has been your favorite part?
I love it! I've never felt more at home! Back in District Three I was somewhat of a social outcast... the other boys didn't understand my need to feel colourful. I was bullied relentlessly for getting caught trying on my sister's dress one day. I just wish - I just wish that I could share this experience with the love of my life, my boyfriend Darin.
Any thoughts about the other tributes? Have you made any friends, or enemies?
Leoni is so lovely! And Korey has been an actual godsend, I don't know if you guys know this, but she saved me after the tribute parade. I'd gotten my hand stuck in my costume, and she only laughed at me a little bit. Truth be told, it was pretty funny. I've got no enemies and I hope it stays that way for as long as possible.
Do you think you have what it takes to become a victor? Who or what are you fighting for?
Oh god, I hope so! I'm very aware of the fact that I might, you know, die. But it's a once in a lifetime experience. Potentially, a very short lifetime if things don't go well for me. But I know how to fight, thanks to my boyfriend, and I hope to see him again soon. I'd also love to show those losers at home that I'm capable of so much more than they think I am.
Do you have any expectations for the arena? Perhaps a preferred terrain?
Anything but the cold. Anything. We don't have much of a winter back in the district. Hypothermia is NOT how I'd like to go out. It just sounds so... cold.... *he briefly wraps himself in his blazer, covering his bare chest, and the audience laughs*
What do you miss most from your home district? Any shoutouts for anyone back home?
Naturally, I miss Darin, did I mention he's the love of my life? God, he's so beautiful. Anyway, I'd like to thank my dad for showing me everything I don't want to become, my mum for standing by passively while he abused me, and the boys in my district for making my life hell. Benji, I hope I broke your stupid fucking nose. Thank you! *his smile is wide and sarcastic*
Any last thoughts before we let you go?
Um... you can't kill me, that's homophobic. And the rest of you will have to watch your backs. You might just get beaten by a man in a skirt.
Neon's Interview Outfit