[She exhales. Okay, good, he trusts her. She's not sure why he wouldn't, but still, it's a good thing to have reassurance on.]
That... green-haired guy, I think it was. He was talking about feeling compulsions earlier this week and saying how it had to do with the demon possession. If this is going to happen every week, we should keep an eye on the others. It could help us figure it out sooner.
[And maybe prevent anyone from dying, but then there's the issue of curfew... One thing at a time.]
So we're on board with this possession thing now, are we?
[Good. That saves a step.]
Don't worry, I've got my vetting process down pat. I'll be careful out there.
[Not that she's got a queue or anything; she's only slept with Haymitch and Nathan, who she's pretty sure is exempt from this whole thing, and if she's limited to those two for the rest of their time here? There are worse things.]
[He slumps down, sliding down the wall til he's sitting on the floor. Arms braced on his knees, and he tips his head back, bangs sliding out of his eyes. There's silence for a few moments, and then:]
[She's quiet as she watches him resettle on the floor, and she's thankful that he's so... Human. Normal, all things considered. They're not from the same world by a long shot, but it feels like they are sometimes, in moments like this.
At the question, her eyes flick to his forearm automatically before, oops, he probably saw that. She was trying not to make it a big thing, and maybe this isn't even the line of thought he was aiming for, but, well. Clearly he wouldn't open up this door if it wasn't an invitation.]
Given that you're offering? Sure. What happened with the kids?
[He says it slowly. She's a smart girl, but why would she figure this out in advance?]
That means it's been twenty-three years since my Games. That means it's been twenty-three more games-- nd forty-six more kids.
They make you mentor them, you know, when you survive. Guide em. Get em sponsors. Be likable if you wanted just one of those kids to survive. I was seventeen and I didn't know what the fuck I was doing.
They died. And so did next year's kids. And next year's.
[He stares so steadily at her.]
I was a coal miner before that. Down in the deeps. My brother was younger, I kept him out of there as long as I could. And then suddenly I'm too good for that, because I went off and killed a bunch of other kids. So I didn't do much else but wait, and know I was gonna fuck it up, because everybody knows twelve winning was a freak accident. We're too ill-fed and poor to be a threat.
Twenty-three years of that. Forty-six kids dead under my tutelage.
[She holds his gaze as she can while he speaks, but she doesn't last long. Her eyes drop to her hands, where she's picking at her nails, and she listens. She tries to wrap her head around the details, tries to fit all the pieces together to make sense of this insane world he's describing.
He'd already told her about his Games, yes, but somehow, she hadn't quite realized that it was part of an ongoing nightmare. No wonder he hasn't been able to set it aside to move on, even in some small part.]
That sucks.
[Is it an undersell? Oh, definitely. But, more importantly, it's genuine and it's not pity. What he's been through sounds horrible, but she's never been the comforting type. She understands as much as she's able, and it does suck, so. That's that.]
[He gets it, is the thing. He really doses. He gets that there's no gesture that can fit, and at least it's a genuine attempt at addressing an impossibly horrible subject. But ah, at that secondary comfort . . . ]
Yeah, it is. When it was my duty to prepare em . . . it was.
[It's true. It's very, very true, actually, and the fingers of his left hand curl. His hand flexes, til the metal of that stupid bracelet digs into the soft inside of his wrist.]
You sound like--
[No. She sounds the opposite of her right now.]
. . . a woman I know. Way more of an idiot than you, though.
[Her head tips to the side as she misunderstands.]
Is that so? She sounds pretty damn smart to me if she's been telling you the same thing I just did. You did what you had to do to survive, and if you hadn't, someone else would've, and you'd be dead, and I'd probably be dead too, since it would've just been my word against cute, little Monika's.
[It's an exaggeration, she knows, but her point stands. He can't be that bad at his job.]
Listen to your friend if not to me. That's all I'm saying.
[She sounds-- oh, and he laughs softly, not spiteful so much as vaguely amused. Of course she thought that's what it meant. How would she know otherwise?]
I meant the other thing. The odds aren't in your favor, that one.
[Her brow furrows. "The odds aren't in your favor" is a shit thing to say to someone. Granted, she just did, but... Hm. She sighs and kicks off her shoes. At some point, she should head back to her room if only to tell Tonbo where she'll be, but that can come later. For now, she slides back to flop down on the bed properly. There's a long moment where she does hog the whole thing, basking in the comfort of not standing around in a stupid ballroom, but then she scoots to one side.]
[There's a long moment in which he might or might not get up, but sooner or later he rises with a groan. Takes another long sip before stumbling over, setting the bottle down and climbing in next to her. Unlike with Monika, there's no hesitation to the way he moves: he bumps up against her and that's fine, because it's inevitable, the two of them tangled together.
Only once they're settled down does he speak, his arm sprawled carelessly over her side. He is exhausted. Maybe more than he realized, because it settles on him heavily as he finally lies down.]
She's not a friend.
[What is Effie, anyway? Friend sounds wrong. Too paltry, too innocent, and that's never been either of them, not for years and years. Certainly not anything friendly, not for the majority of that time. He'd thought her vapid and idiotic, worried only about fashion and escaping the drudgery of 12 for a more glamorous district. And she was, honestly, it's not like that perception was wrong, but . . .
Afterwards is when she'd shone. Down in 13, stripped of her makeup and her stupid wigs and all the fucking nonsense of Panem, she'd gotten a grip on herself. She was still Effie, with that scarf tied around her hair and as much makeup as she could get away with, but it was more . . . contained. More streamlined. Focused, and she'd actually started using her brain, leading instead of following. Barking orders for Katniss' sake, and sure, it was orders about clothing types and makeup options, but it was still--
Or maybe it was earlier than that. Maybe it was during that first Victory tour, when they'd finally had not one but two children to care over (and Katniss and Peeta, no matter what they've gone through, no matter how the Capitol dolled them up and tore them down, are still children). Maybe it was late night speech revisions and drawled out comments; half-eaten dinners on trains and anxious fretting about the most inane things, because there was nothing either of them could do about the looming problems that truly mattered.
Maybe it's been building up all these years, because there's only so long you can ignore the only consistency in your life, no matter what form it takes.
When had he looked at her and saw not something derisive, but desirable? It'd culminated in one easy night, one long look as everyone had slowly gone to bed, and Effie following him, heels clicking and voice just a little breathless, til they'd reached his bed, and gave what comforts they could, easy and unassuming. No promises, nothing so childish, but something recurring, and that's more than he'd had in years and years.
Kind of like Katy, he thinks, and runs an idle thumb against her hip.]
It was a lottery system, back when they picked the kids for the Games. She was the . . . I guess you could call her the showwoman. Picked the names each year, and then she and I would train them. She'd show em how to act, how to look good, impress sponsors while I taught em how to survive in the arena. I dunno if she ever thoughts about it, really. It was just a job for all of us. You did it because you always did.
[He keeps up his stroking pattern, tracing the line of her hip, staring at nothing as he speaks.]
After the revolution . . . she'd gone through it. We all had. She never talks about it, but I know what happened. They tortured her, cuz she didn't get out in time, and our last tributes were the stars of the revolution. It wasn't a good idea to be connected to them, you know? But then it was afterwards, all the fighting done, and it was just me and her a bunch while everybody figured out what the hell we were all doing.
Nobody ever talks about that: what happens after all the killing's over and we all figure out what we're doing now. It's dull and tense, all at once. Kinda like now, [he says, and laughs a little, in a despairing way.] You know you're not gonna die, but you don't know if maybe tomorrow'll be better or worse. So we . . .
She's an idiot. She used to be obsessed with all the Capitol crap, all the fashion and wigs and makeup . . . but after it all fell apart, you could see what she was beneath all that. And she's a good woman. Smarter than she thinks she is.
[God, but he misses her. He really does. But oh . . . he snorts at himself, talking and talking like this, but shit, he's drunk.]
She used to say that. They all did, when they picked the names for the next games. May the odds be ever in your favor.
[Oh, good. He settles in next to her and then his arms find her and it's more than she was expecting, especially given the distance he's been keeping between them since she showed up. She takes full advantage, nestling in close just for the feel of a body against hers.
And then she listens, her fingers idly tracing through his free hand. It's more details that sound so foreign to her, so teetering on the edge of unbelievable, but this time, there's a running theme that she can relate to. She's never really had someone like who he's describing, but she's had her fair share of complicated relationships. It's a human thing more than a who-comes-from-where thing, and there's grounding in that.]
She sounds like a friend. Maybe not a capital-F Friend, but you don't go through all that with a person and not stick a special note in their file.
[As off-base as the comparison is, she's reminded of Stewart. She wouldn't call Stewart her friend, not by a long shot, but she did start a scrap with Tanis and her boys over him. She'd do it again. She'd put money that Haymitch would do the same for this woman.]
[Beautiful and soft and idiotic and nattering, clever about all the wrong things, surviving despite the odds, as grimly and determinedly as any tribute she'd sent to the chopping block.]
She gave me this.
[He lifts his hand, flexing his wrist to show the bracelet.]
[She smiles to herself as he reveals the bracelet. Oh, they're totally friends, if not more from the way he's digging his heels in at the label despite talking about her so fondly. Good for him. She's glad he's got someone waiting for him back home.]
Sounds to me like she's chipping in like she knows how. And she's got good taste.
[Both in him and in the bracelet. She runs her fingers along the gold. It's nice, getting a glimpse of where he's from—
Wait. Her eyebrows knit together.]
I thought you came here with a knife.
[Aren't they only supposed to get one thing from home?]
Yeah. Came at the start of the week anyway, dunno what that's about.
[So what the fuck is that about, he just doesn't know. But he's grateful for it, honestly, and he lets her touch, examining it. It's real gold, knowing Effie.]
[Hey, she's sitting up now. She's not suspicious of him, of course, but this warrants further thought. Why is Haymitch getting freebies from home when she literally had to suck a dick for a lighter?]
[OH my god, oh my god? It's not that stupid a thing to think, all things considered, but also, she wasn't done riding the high of him catching Monika. She'd just assumed he would think of these things before her, or at least at the same time.]
I got a token for fucking you. Used it to buy a lighter.
[Priorities. But, also, her point is: Imbalance!]
You get something personal from home, and I get the Chuck E. Cheese economy? Something's up. That, or the pay-off for sucking cock is wildly skewed.
[Not that there's much she'd want from home, but still.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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I'd never spoken to her before today.
[...]
But you knew she was full of shit, right?
[She might be well and truly off the hook now, but there was a span of a couple hours there where folks were willing to entertain Monika's bullshit.]
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[He shrugs.]
Killers can come from anyone. Even kids. Even the ones who seem sweet.
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That... green-haired guy, I think it was. He was talking about feeling compulsions earlier this week and saying how it had to do with the demon possession. If this is going to happen every week, we should keep an eye on the others. It could help us figure it out sooner.
[And maybe prevent anyone from dying, but then there's the issue of curfew... One thing at a time.]
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[He nods, rubbing his mouth as he does.]
And watch who you sleep with.
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[Good. That saves a step.]
Don't worry, I've got my vetting process down pat. I'll be careful out there.
[Not that she's got a queue or anything; she's only slept with Haymitch and Nathan, who she's pretty sure is exempt from this whole thing, and if she's limited to those two for the rest of their time here? There are worse things.]
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[He slumps down, sliding down the wall til he's sitting on the floor. Arms braced on his knees, and he tips his head back, bangs sliding out of his eyes. There's silence for a few moments, and then:]
You gonna ask?
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At the question, her eyes flick to his forearm automatically before, oops, he probably saw that. She was trying not to make it a big thing, and maybe this isn't even the line of thought he was aiming for, but, well. Clearly he wouldn't open up this door if it wasn't an invitation.]
Given that you're offering? Sure. What happened with the kids?
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[He says it slowly. She's a smart girl, but why would she figure this out in advance?]
That means it's been twenty-three years since my Games. That means it's been twenty-three more games-- nd forty-six more kids.
They make you mentor them, you know, when you survive. Guide em. Get em sponsors. Be likable if you wanted just one of those kids to survive. I was seventeen and I didn't know what the fuck I was doing.
They died. And so did next year's kids. And next year's.
[He stares so steadily at her.]
I was a coal miner before that. Down in the deeps. My brother was younger, I kept him out of there as long as I could. And then suddenly I'm too good for that, because I went off and killed a bunch of other kids. So I didn't do much else but wait, and know I was gonna fuck it up, because everybody knows twelve winning was a freak accident. We're too ill-fed and poor to be a threat.
Twenty-three years of that. Forty-six kids dead under my tutelage.
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He'd already told her about his Games, yes, but somehow, she hadn't quite realized that it was part of an ongoing nightmare. No wonder he hasn't been able to set it aside to move on, even in some small part.]
That sucks.
[Is it an undersell? Oh, definitely. But, more importantly, it's genuine and it's not pity. What he's been through sounds horrible, but she's never been the comforting type. She understands as much as she's able, and it does suck, so. That's that.]
But their blood isn't on your hands.
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Yeah, it is. When it was my duty to prepare em . . . it was.
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Prep can only get you so far. You said only one person walks out at the end of one of those things, right? Those odds are always gonna be against you.
[Ah, now it's her turn to give him a measured stare.]
Blame your government. It's not your fault.
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You sound like--
[No. She sounds the opposite of her right now.]
. . . a woman I know. Way more of an idiot than you, though.
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Is that so? She sounds pretty damn smart to me if she's been telling you the same thing I just did. You did what you had to do to survive, and if you hadn't, someone else would've, and you'd be dead, and I'd probably be dead too, since it would've just been my word against cute, little Monika's.
[It's an exaggeration, she knows, but her point stands. He can't be that bad at his job.]
Listen to your friend if not to me. That's all I'm saying.
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I meant the other thing. The odds aren't in your favor, that one.
[A beat, and then:]
I'm listening, Katy.
[He is. Sort of. Even if he acts like he isn't.]
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Come here and tell me about your friend, then.
[She pats the space next to her.]
I'm exhausted, and I know you are too.
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Only once they're settled down does he speak, his arm sprawled carelessly over her side. He is exhausted. Maybe more than he realized, because it settles on him heavily as he finally lies down.]
She's not a friend.
[What is Effie, anyway? Friend sounds wrong. Too paltry, too innocent, and that's never been either of them, not for years and years. Certainly not anything friendly, not for the majority of that time. He'd thought her vapid and idiotic, worried only about fashion and escaping the drudgery of 12 for a more glamorous district. And she was, honestly, it's not like that perception was wrong, but . . .
Afterwards is when she'd shone. Down in 13, stripped of her makeup and her stupid wigs and all the fucking nonsense of Panem, she'd gotten a grip on herself. She was still Effie, with that scarf tied around her hair and as much makeup as she could get away with, but it was more . . . contained. More streamlined. Focused, and she'd actually started using her brain, leading instead of following. Barking orders for Katniss' sake, and sure, it was orders about clothing types and makeup options, but it was still--
Or maybe it was earlier than that. Maybe it was during that first Victory tour, when they'd finally had not one but two children to care over (and Katniss and Peeta, no matter what they've gone through, no matter how the Capitol dolled them up and tore them down, are still children). Maybe it was late night speech revisions and drawled out comments; half-eaten dinners on trains and anxious fretting about the most inane things, because there was nothing either of them could do about the looming problems that truly mattered.
Maybe it's been building up all these years, because there's only so long you can ignore the only consistency in your life, no matter what form it takes.
When had he looked at her and saw not something derisive, but desirable? It'd culminated in one easy night, one long look as everyone had slowly gone to bed, and Effie following him, heels clicking and voice just a little breathless, til they'd reached his bed, and gave what comforts they could, easy and unassuming. No promises, nothing so childish, but something recurring, and that's more than he'd had in years and years.
Kind of like Katy, he thinks, and runs an idle thumb against her hip.]
It was a lottery system, back when they picked the kids for the Games. She was the . . . I guess you could call her the showwoman. Picked the names each year, and then she and I would train them. She'd show em how to act, how to look good, impress sponsors while I taught em how to survive in the arena. I dunno if she ever thoughts about it, really. It was just a job for all of us. You did it because you always did.
[He keeps up his stroking pattern, tracing the line of her hip, staring at nothing as he speaks.]
After the revolution . . . she'd gone through it. We all had. She never talks about it, but I know what happened. They tortured her, cuz she didn't get out in time, and our last tributes were the stars of the revolution. It wasn't a good idea to be connected to them, you know? But then it was afterwards, all the fighting done, and it was just me and her a bunch while everybody figured out what the hell we were all doing.
Nobody ever talks about that: what happens after all the killing's over and we all figure out what we're doing now. It's dull and tense, all at once. Kinda like now, [he says, and laughs a little, in a despairing way.] You know you're not gonna die, but you don't know if maybe tomorrow'll be better or worse. So we . . .
She's an idiot. She used to be obsessed with all the Capitol crap, all the fashion and wigs and makeup . . . but after it all fell apart, you could see what she was beneath all that. And she's a good woman. Smarter than she thinks she is.
[God, but he misses her. He really does. But oh . . . he snorts at himself, talking and talking like this, but shit, he's drunk.]
She used to say that. They all did, when they picked the names for the next games. May the odds be ever in your favor.
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And then she listens, her fingers idly tracing through his free hand. It's more details that sound so foreign to her, so teetering on the edge of unbelievable, but this time, there's a running theme that she can relate to. She's never really had someone like who he's describing, but she's had her fair share of complicated relationships. It's a human thing more than a who-comes-from-where thing, and there's grounding in that.]
She sounds like a friend. Maybe not a capital-F Friend, but you don't go through all that with a person and not stick a special note in their file.
[As off-base as the comparison is, she's reminded of Stewart. She wouldn't call Stewart her friend, not by a long shot, but she did start a scrap with Tanis and her boys over him. She'd do it again. She'd put money that Haymitch would do the same for this woman.]
What's her name?
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[Beautiful and soft and idiotic and nattering, clever about all the wrong things, surviving despite the odds, as grimly and determinedly as any tribute she'd sent to the chopping block.]
She gave me this.
[He lifts his hand, flexing his wrist to show the bracelet.]
Me, and our two tributes. Said it made us a team.
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Sounds to me like she's chipping in like she knows how. And she's got good taste.
[Both in him and in the bracelet. She runs her fingers along the gold. It's nice, getting a glimpse of where he's from—
Wait. Her eyebrows knit together.]
I thought you came here with a knife.
[Aren't they only supposed to get one thing from home?]
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[So what the fuck is that about, he just doesn't know. But he's grateful for it, honestly, and he lets her touch, examining it. It's real gold, knowing Effie.]
Pretty nice, though.
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And you don't find that suspicious?
[Hey, she's sitting up now. She's not suspicious of him, of course, but this warrants further thought. Why is Haymitch getting freebies from home when she literally had to suck a dick for a lighter?]
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[he stares up at her. Honestly, he hadn't given it much of a thought beyond mild surprise, but now that she brings it up . . .]
What, you think it's not?
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[OH my god, oh my god? It's not that stupid a thing to think, all things considered, but also, she wasn't done riding the high of him catching Monika. She'd just assumed he would think of these things before her, or at least at the same time.]
I got a token for fucking you. Used it to buy a lighter.
[Priorities. But, also, her point is: Imbalance!]
You get something personal from home, and I get the Chuck E. Cheese economy? Something's up. That, or the pay-off for sucking cock is wildly skewed.
[Not that there's much she'd want from home, but still.]
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[Said vaguely.]
I got a token too. Still haven't spent it. This was just . . . extra, I guess.
[Now he's worried. But it's the same gold bangle he remembers, the intricate vine pattern, the metal digging into his skin.]
Listen, worry less about this shit and more about the other people. It's all just gimmicks.
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It can't be just gimmicks. This whole place functions on rules. Maybe what it means isn't that important, but it still means something.
[But, in any case, she's willing to let it go for the night. She settles back in next to him, tugging at his arm to return it to where it was before.]
Nathan might know. He can talk to the people that were here before us.
[...]
You have to send nudes to get him to talk to you, though. It's a shit system. I punched him for it.
[Not that he designed the system, but.]
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