brutcllysoft

[brutcllysoft]

"I am not writing her off. I'm being realistic." And harsh, but what about this isn't? She raises a brow at him. "And do you think you're being fair? You don't even know the other tributes name." Sometimes she forgets how annoying everyone from the districts can be, but Hayes especially. She has worked with him for years and likes to think that she knows him pretty well — but the truth is that distance makes the heart grow fonder and typically in the off season of the games, Gemma remembers him through rose coloured glasses. Remembers him as a sweet little boy who listens to her and does as he is told. It's only when they're working together again that she remembers what a challenge he actually is. Still... she could do a lot worse. District Twelve in particular makes her want to stab her eyes out with a crystal studded fork. Eleven and ten aren't much better. Four would be ideal. But for now she can make this work or she will die trying. "There's tension between One and Two lately but all of their tributes come from the academy this year, I doubt they'll want to split. Four is a wild card but probably your most realistic option for now."

Oh, Hayes thought. Interesting. Can dish it, but can’t take it. The fresh cold tone in her voice didn’t go unnoticed by the blonde, and he knew that he should probably chill. If he was a man of his word, he would have to be around Gemma through the games and the following Victory Tour. And then, unless Gemma got promoted, they’d start this whole song and dance over again. But she had gotten under his skin, and he didn’t like that. “Helping with shit like this isn’t the problem. You’re practically writing her off without even seeing what she can do. Are you the same with the other one?” He should really learn the other tributes name, but that meant he’d had to peel Genera off him and that seemed like a feat of nature he wasn’t interested in participating in. Leaning back in his chair he shrugged. “Was going to figure that out during the training tomorrow. Do you think there’s any hope of splitting the career alliance this year? I know they’ve been way more tight knit as of late. If we can, I think aligning with 2 makes sense…if we can’t get in the middle of the careers 6 and 8 were good allies in there for me. 7 could help with building a shelter if they’re anywhere with nature.” See? The look on his face said. I know what I’m doing too.

[brutcllysoft]

The last person Shay wants to see these days is Owen. Not because she's upset with him or because they're in an argument — but if anyone is going to be able to really see what a mess she is, it's her brother. Of course, she's aware she's doing a terrible job at hiding the walking embodiment of grief and anxiety she's become from anyone, but she knows Owen will be able to see through any mask she might be able to scrape together. She's never been able to hide anything from him, going back to when they were kids and she had broken his favourite toy. She'd spent a solid twenty minutes coming up with a cover story, only to blurt out the truth the moment she saw him.

Turns out, she didn't have to try very hard to avoid him. The Capitol keeps them both busy, Owen especially and their duties don't overlap as much as she thought they would. But they share a living quarters — even if Owen does spend a good handful of his nights with District One's Ice Queen, something that irks Shay more than she would ever admit. Not tonight, though. Tonight he's knocking on her door and Shay's heart drops into her stomach. She wonders if he would go away if she ignored him. If he'd think she was asleep (a funny joke, considering just how little of that she does anymore) or maybe just... out. She knows Owen though. Knows he won't give up. "Yeah. You can come in," she sits up in her bed, knees pulled up to her chest and sighs. "I... Are you okay? It's late."

STARTER FOR: @brutcllysoft | owen & shay. LOCATION: training center apartments.

He felt like he had been sleepwalking all day. It was routine, each year since he was 20 years old: The Reaping, the train ride, the tribute parade. It's easy to stay busy during all of it -- But this year, rather than simply shuffle about and keep himself busy, all he can focus on his sister. It had been simpler, two years ago, knowing she was safe in District Two. Now she sat beside him, among the rest of the Victors. Even so, they've barely had a moment to speak to one another -- His attention has remained on her the entire day, silently wish he could read her mind. He remembered his first games -- There was an excitement that washed over him, given that Nico was his tribute and he had Thea by his side. But in the moments he'd found himself alone, no longer putting on a show, there was an ache in his chest that threatened to swallow him whole. He knew Shay was surely feeling the same sense of dread, haunted by thoughts of Ezra and the arena. He knows he is.

Only every time he tried to get to her, he'd end up shuffled away for some bullshit task. Unsurprisingly, it's not until they're all shuffled back to the training center apartments that's finally, finally able to get to her -- No longer having to watch his sister from afar, hoping she's not on the verge of losing her shit. Or worse, fully lost herself to grief like Thea has. Owen's almost afraid of the answer as he knocks quietly on her bedroom door, not bothering to wait for her to answer before sticking his head in. "Shay?" He calls out, brow arched as adds: "You uh -- decent?" Owen asks, attempting to diffuse his own anxieties.

[brutcllysoft]

A brief panic strikes her with Monroe's words. "Just a little bit. I don't want to me showing a lot of skin." She doesn't know why — she just hates the idea of being on display for the Capitol. Hates that she has to let them see her at all, but she wants to keep as much of herself concealed as possible. She rubs the swatch between her thumb and pointer finger, recognizing it now that Monroe has told her what it is. Blacksmith aprons. It reminds her of home — it reminds her of Ezra. Reminds her of the forge that they had worked in, of the quiet and peaceful life he had helped their makeshift family carve into existence. Her chest burns with an ache so deep she's afraid it might swallow her and she thinks again about how unfair all of this has been. "You should add some shimmer," she chokes out and then clears her throat because it's embarrassing. "The sparks in the forge... They reminded me of glitter when I was little. I thought it was pretty."

It was embarrassing, quite frankly, how relieved Monroe was that Shay wasn’t icing her out. She knew that there was no chance they’d end up being friends after all this. But everyone in these apartments was about to spend a lot of time together watching something very unpleasant. Their interactions with each other should at least be pleasant to compensate, right? Once she got the sketchbook back in her hands, she started making notes. “Free hands, got it. I’ll raise the sleeves a little bit for you, gives you free movement. Laughing a little bit, Monroe shook her head. “Absolutely not. Though I can’t say that that idea wasn’t thrown around.” Some of these parade outfits were so surface level, it was shocking. Flipping back to one of her old sketches she passed it back over to Shay. “I went back to the whole Masonry aspect of the district. Material is pulled from blacksmith aprons and the color scheme is inspired by the forges.” 

[brutcllysoft]

Shay can't imagine how anyone could do this year after year. Being here once is more than enough for her — she has zero desire for any repeats. The constant anxiety and dread hanging over her is enough to crush her even now and she can't blame Thea for letting it change her to be the way that she is. Shay has never been ignorant to Thea's quirks — the district had whispered about them for as long as she can remember and it's never bothered her. She'd always sympathized with the woman and thought she knew what she had been through. The truth was, Shay had no idea — she still has no idea. Her toes have only been dipped into all of this with the hardest parts still looming over the horizon for her. She can't imagine herself holding it together as well as Thea has — which is saying something.

Which is maybe why Shay feels so guilty now. Thea has already lost so much and the brunette knows that Ezra has been a solace for her. That he has been the one truly holding her together when it matters — all of that has effectively been taken from her now. Shay knows Ezra has already accepted his death, he'd so much as told her so. She can't help but wonder if Thea has done the same and if she will grow to resent her the closer that gets now. "I don't want to come home," she admits quietly. She isn't sure what kind of reaction to expect, if she'll get one at all. "I feel like I should apologize for that. But... I don't. I can't..." Sharp pain blossoms when she bites into her lip, trying to keep herself grounded and keep herself from spiralling for the umpteenth time. "I've seen what that's like for you. For Owen and Nico. I don't think I can do it. I think our focus should be on Ezra."

"I do. It's part of my job." A job you are failing at already, says the voice in her head that never seems to get the hint to leave her alone. But it's true — she's failing Shay, failing Ezra, failing their entire team because of her inability to be present. Moping around all day won't bring either of them home and Thea knows that, but all the rationale in the world won't make this year any easier. If it'd been only one of them here then maybe she'd have the strength to to her job correctly, and they'd continue on with life after these Games as if nothing happened. Having both Shay and Ezra here is what's killing her — it's an impossible choice to make but again, Thea reminds herself that this isn't Shay's fault. She hadn't asked for her name to be picked from the reaping bowl, and she certainly hadn't asked Ezra to volunteer once it was. He'd done that on his own accord, and despite her anger and frustration, Thea knows he'd do it a thousand times over.

This is still painful, though, and Thea's sure they both feel it. And while none of them are to blame but the Capitol, Thea knows she isn't making this any easier for any of them. With the way she's been acting, it's no surprise that Shay thinks she's at fault here, or that she's got something to apologize for. And that's the last thing Thea wants, because if Shay goes into the arena with a death wish then neither of them will make it out. So her head shakes quickly, a poor attempt on Thea's part at dispelling any guilt Shay might carry — but it's all she's got to offer. "You didn't ask for this. You don't need to apologize for anything. I..." Thea nearly chokes on her own words, her jaw clenching as she forces herself to believe what she's saying. It's like pulling teeth, but she has to get there and accept the reality of the situation — if not for her own sanity, then for the two actually going into the arena. "Just come home. That's all we want."

[brutcllysoft]

After a decade of doing so, Di is an expert at arguing with Cyrus. The two can bicker until they're blue in the face — and they have, thousands of times, but she knows it's typically pointless. He's the most stubborn person she knows and worse than that, he actually seems to believe his own bullshit, so there's really no getting through to him. "Sure you're not," she responds, honeyed eyes rolling. "You're practically ancient by district standards." The way she says it, it could be a joke but they both know it isn't really. District Twelve is the poorest of the poor, and half the population starves to death before they reach adulthood.

Regardless of how many times Dinah has been here, she isn't sure she'll ever be really comfortable in their training centre apartment. She isn't even really comfortable in her home in Victor's Village, if she's being honest. She'd spent the majority of her life in a two bedroom shack in the seam, their father passed out in one bedroom and her brother's piled into the other while Dinah slept in the saggy excuse of a sofa they had. It had been a glorified shack that none of her brothers had been sad to see go, but Dinah always felt like she was intruding there. Like it wasn't hers — it belonged to Snow and that meant it would never really be safe. The apartments in the Capitol are no different, of course, her distrust of them amped up into the millions but she feels a little less out of place right now. The bathroom feels less foreign with Cyrus in it, bruised and bloody while they go through a routine they've perfected over the years.

And yeah, maybe a part of her feels a little better knowing where he is now. She worries about him when he's out — though she would insist it's only because he's going to do something inevitably stupid, putting both himself and her (and by extension her family) in danger. It has nothing to do with whatever feelings she may or may not have been vehemently shoving down for years now.

She uses a damp washcloth to dab at his bloodied hairline, using her free hand to tilt his head into better lighting, thumb brushing along his jawline. "You don't need stitches but I think you have a little concussion," she admits to him, listening to the slur of his words coupled with his unfocused eyes, even if he denies it. "Should be alright soon enough. We can have the avoxes bring something up for you to take before training tomorrow." Di has never gotten comfortable using Avoxes, if she's being completely honest but they don't have many options here and she doesn't love the idea of Cyrus trying to train their tributes with a head injury. They might as well take advantage of the medical advancements while they have them at their disposal, God knows they don't get them once they go home. Her tongue clicks when he explains his night, jaw clenching as she resists the urge to roll her eyes at him again. "Why do you always let them get to you?" Because he's an idiot, she reminds herself.

If his head wasn't throbbing and the room wasn't spinning, Cyrus would have insisted he kicked their ass -- That this was nothing compared to the beat down he'd given, claiming not one but two men were lying bloody in an alleyway. It wasn't uncommon for him to embellish, depending on what his ego warranted. (Even though Dinah easily saw through his bullshit stories) "Fuck you, I'm not old." He insists instead, grumbling as he spoke. There's not much heat behind it, given the state he's in, but it offends him regardless. She's not wrong, but he doesn't want to hear it. As far as Cyrus can tell, he's going to be on his own until the day he dies; He can't slow down. Even if he's pushing 40 and his knees weren't what they used to be. It's not like he'd exactly been kind to his body over the course of his life.

Cyrus wordlessly follows her lead, a combination of the exhaustion settling into his bones and knowing exactly where they're headed. This bathroom may be far nicer than hers at home, but it's the same means to an end. He'd lost count years ago how many times he'd shown up at her door with various injuries. At least she didn't have to drag him in by the ankles this time. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub steadies him, gripping the cool porcelain with his hands. It's oddly comforting, given how many times he's been in this position -- Knowing that the next step is Dinah grilling him for details while helping put him back together again. He'll always be grateful for, finding a deep sense of comfort that he doesn't dare speak of each time. Too tired to fight back, he leans with her as her hand on his jaw moves him for examination. He already knows he's going to be stuck hearing a whole monologue from the District 12 Escort about how irresponsible it is to get into a fight when such an important event is about to take place -- Before being covered in a pound of make up by their idiot prep team, to hide any bruises.

"My eyes aren't fuzzy," He quietly insists, staring up at her with half-lidded eyes. It's far too instinctual for him to deny things, to push back against even the simplest comments. Now, it's more half assed than anything -- He's in no state to try and act sober and uninjured. All he wants is to crawl into bed and never leave. It wouldn't hurt if Dinah was there with him, too. As cliche as it is, he'd rest easier knowing she was only inches away. He knows better than to voice that thought, though. "M'sure I'll be fine by morning." Cyrus shrugs, his grip on the side of the tub keeping him from falling over. He leans into the touch, savoring the feeling of Dinah's cold hand against his warm skin. It grounds him a bit, keeps him from doing his typical means of dealing with injuries. (The 'If I just fall asleep instead I don't have to deal with it' route.) His nose wrinkles at the mention of what happened, a wince following. "Some asshole got what was comin' to him." He answers simply, as if that explains anything. "Peacekeeper was lookin' at me wrong so I set 'em straight." He elaborates a bit further, before pausing to close his eyes and take a deep breath. "My head is fuzzy." He points out, brow furrowed. "Do I need stitches? I don't want stitches."

[brutcllysoft]

Seven has always been an interesting District to Silena. While they weren't a career district by any means, they had produced a handful of victors in the past and had their fair share of threats in the arena. They certainly weren't a district that could be counted out — not like Five or Twelve. Not this year, though. This year they'd been given a couple of flops that Silena wasn't really going to bother with, figuring that someone would take them out early enough in the games and if not, surely they would be victim to the elements. Of course, if given the chance she would have no problem slitting either of their throats but she wasn't going to be gunning for them either. She hums, eyes drifting back to the tribute in question. "And the girl? I haven't seen much of her either." Silena knows in the back of her mind all of this could be part of a strategy, but she has a feeling that isn't really Ashton's style. He seems much more the brute force kill them before they kill you type than the wait them out through survival skills type. She watches as he throws the axe, resists the urge to roll her eyes at the showboating. She clicks her tongue, shrugging. "I can't give you all my secrets," she muses. "I do prefer up close and personal though. A lot less room for errors." Messier too, which she hates but she figures she'll have to make some sacrifices. Besides, there's probably some Capitol freaks out there who will get off on her covered in blood and send her some ridiculous sponsor gift like a solid gold knife she'll need a crane to lift.

While there may be a difference between Seven and One, Ashton never really had the same mentality as the rest of those in Seven. He's a pariah back there, rather than a hero like he should be. He provided for them. Given, that he'd killed his own district partner not too long into the Games, he did it to survive. Breaking out of his exterior shell and becoming the Victor that now has to be there every Games just to be disappointed was a bit fucked. One would be a better place for him, for sure. "It's good you know that," he comments. It's not exactly a compliment but it could be taken that way.

Ashton snorts looking at his Tribute. "He literally shakes every time I come near him. I can't even attempt to make that shit any better. Kid's just gonna die anyway." He wouldn't put it past the kid to die of a heart attack stepping foot into the Arena. Give Ash a winner and he'll make them a warrior. Give him a corpse walking and he's not wasting his energy. Picking back up his axe, he flexes his arm and fires it at the target. "You could get him just like that. Or are you more of an up close and personal kind of girl?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

[brutcllysoft]

Shay had practically begged not to have to go back to the Capitol this year, but she had known that would be in vain. Of course, she knew how these things worked — once someone won the games, they were required to mentor for at least a little while, though preferably until another victor of the same gender was crowned. Eventually, when enough time had passed and more victors had taken their place, sometimes mentors were allowed their solitude again. To retire quietly in their home districts and try to find a semblance of peace. Shay knew that was a long ways away for her, but the idea of going back to the Capitol at all had been so distressing to her that she'd had to at least try. Of course, it hadn't worked and she's spent the past few weeks teetering back and forth, feeling as though she was constantly on the verge of a panic attack. One that she would lose herself to from time to time, only to force herself to pack it away and do her job. Except that never really worked. Even when she was able to appear as if she had herself together, for the cameras or to keep herself from looking too weak in front of her peers, she was never really all there. A part of her had died in the arena with Ezra. Shay knew it was never coming back. She just had to learn how to live with the phantom ache.

She had thought she was doing okay with it. She'd had a rocky start to mentoring but she had eventually found her footing — more or less. Nothing about this would ever be easy, but Shay had thought she could find a way to live through it. And maybe she would have been able to, had her entire world not been once again shifted this afternoon. She had known nothing good would come from a request from President Snow. She'd been on edge from the moment she'd gotten the message, nausea churning in her stomach the entire ride to the President's estate. And while she had had no idea what to expect from the meeting, she had certainly not been expecting what had happened. The offer — though Shay would hardly call it that, given the fact that she didn't think she was really allowed to say no — to spend her nights in bed with Capitol citizens, to give away her body to those willing to spend to dollar. It all made her head spin and her throat burn with bile, and she is fairly certain that she blacked out while adamantly refusing, something the President had told her wasn't an option.

Which is where she finds herself now, her heartrate on the verge of a medical emergency and her head spinning. She can't think — she can't even breathe. Her hands shake to the point where they feel useless, and that's only made more frustrating when she drops the glass she'd been holding, flinching at the sound as it shatters and water splashes her feet. If she's shocked to see Thea, she doesn't show it. Under normal circumstances, she would be — Thea has been scarce these days, though no one can blame her. Shay feels as though the two of them walk on eggshells around each other but right now it's all she can do to lean into the relationship they'd had once. Thea had been like a second mother to her, something that she desperately needs right now. Her eyes brim with tears, throat tightening. "I had to go see Snow today," her voice sounds far away, her mind foggy with panic and grief for the life she knows she is being condemned to. "He wants me to... He wants me to..." she repeats the beginning of her sentence, trailing off twice because the idea of finishing it seems impossible.

THEA + SHAY / @brutcllysoft WHERE & WHEN: the capitol, before the 101st hunger games

For almost the entirety of this trip to the Capitol, Thea's been in another world. It had been a miracle that she made it there at all — she'd had to be practically dragged out of her house to the reaping and onto the train, her feet stubbornly dragging against the floor as her two (three now, Thea tells herself) victors reminded her that the Games aren't optional. But oh, how she wishes they were. The desire to fade away into nothing has become much stronger in the last year (yes, an entire year has passed, Thea must remind herself). There's a large part of her that wants things to just continue how they are, to retreat back to the isolation of her home so she doesn't have to confront all the things she's been hiding from since they all left the Capitol last. And there's a horrible part of her that still resents Shay, maybe even envies that she was able to be there during Ezra's final moments, while Thea was forced to watch from a screen as the love of her life took his last breath.

She tries her best to keep that part locked up, though — because it isn’t right and if she couldn’t be there with Ezra, it helps to know that Shay was the last person he saw alive. He loved all of the kids, of course, but Shay had taken an interest in his craft, the two of them always cooked together and truthfully, they both became a light in the darkness that is becoming a victor. It's the only thing that keeps her from completely losing every piece of herself. Because they had both wanted Shay to win (you agreed on this, nags that voice in Thea's head again). But that hasn't made facing Shay in the aftermath any easier — and if the younger woman's actions have been anything to go by, the feeling is mutual.

Any other year Thea would be bending over backwards to ensure Shay's comfort while she's here, to make sure she's getting the hang of things and teaching her all the ropes of being a mentor. Instead, she's barely been able to look at her, let alone leave her room at all. But a loud crash late at night breaks her at least somewhat out of the trance she's been in, and she soon finds herself face to face with Two's newest victor herself — hypothetically speaking, of course, because when things finally come into focus, Thea realizes that Shay is trembling on the ground with shards of glass surrounding her. "What—" her sentence breaks as she moves quickly to kneal in front of the other woman, paying no mind to the glass she might be stepping on in the process. She can barely feel a thing these days, anyway. "What happened?"

[brutcllysoft]

Clementine is glad that Alba apparently has enough braincells rattling around in that seemingly empty head to realize that the two of them are not and never will be friends. Honestly, she can't imagine why any of the escorts or stylists think that that's a possibility with the victors. Do they truly have that little self awareness or are they just stupid? In what world could any of them be anything other than unwilling allies for two months of the year? How are those from the District supposed to trust the people who celebrate their deaths year after year? The people who benefit from it? Clementine wants to lock them all in the tribute center and light it on fire. In fact, she thinks that should be part of the official rebellion. She rolls her eyes again. "They aren't robots, Alba. They're children. We can't push them 24/7. They need time to process and let their minds rest." And they should be allowed to indulge in the little things, like food and rest, while they have them. "We'll start strategizing while we eat. The meals can be your domaine. You can reach out to the kitchen and start customizing the menu. Nothing too rich for the first week, their bodies won't be used to it and we don't want them to get sick. We'll have to ease into it." The food here is already lightyears ahead of anything that they have in Eleven, but Clem has no idea what Alba has in mind.

This is another reason she wasn't excited to return to Eleven. Clem hadn't exactly liked her before the death of her son but now there was even more distance between getting to civility. Rubbing two glossed lips together, her leg bouncing slightly under her, she shrugs. "Okay, yes, that's fair. You don't have to trust me," Alba forfeits. She's not going to win that battle. Not with Clem. Hell, not with any of these Victors. The only thing she's lost in all this is a few friends she has known for a few weeks and a bit of her paycheck when she gets demoted. It still stings though. "Well in Eight, they've been using time in the apartment more wisely-- training and prepping. I feel like we can easily add that to the schedule. And apparently, there are some good meal options we can change our tributes to to get them healthier, and faster. The Gamemaker just hasn't been telling us about them. I mean there's not exactly a menu they hand us," she shrugs.

[brutcllysoft]

There's a sudden ringing in her ears that might be concerning if she didn't have bigger issues going on right now. One would think by that Silena would mean the Hunger Games ordeal going on right now, but really all she can focus on at the moment is what her sister had said. Baby fat — baby fat? She spends half of her days following the rigorous academy training schedule, she does not have baby fat... does she? This is what Silena hates the most about herself. Most of the time, she's calm and confident — conceited or cocky even. Silena is beautiful and she knows it. She'd been brought up to be beautiful — sometimes she thinks it's the most notable thing about her but is ridiculous considering she'd also been the top of her class and she is about to be a victor. But all of that always has and always will come second to the fact that she's beautiful. That's just how the Capitol, and by extension District One, operates. So to have someone so casually point out one of the flaws she hadn't even realized she had? She'll be thinking about that for days, annoyingly. Even now, her pinky finger skates across her jawline, searching for imperfections.

She's been thrown off of her game now, something that she'll need to work on. It can't be that easy to have her lose focus right now, she needs to get her head back on straight. "Two did alright a few years ago." But alright doesn't really cut it, and they both know that. Besides last year Two had been almost embarrassing. An old man and an academy flunk? Silena hadn't expected anything out of either of them and still isn't convinced it wasn't rigged when the girl won in the first place. "Four would be good to have around since we don't know what kind of climate we're looking at." There had been basic swimming lessons at the academy but it definitely isn't Silena's strong suit. "Seven might be okay if it's someone older." Even Eleven has had stronger contenders in the past. They're certainly not careers, but given the nature of their industries, they often worked physical jobs which could lead to strong tributes. Sometimes. She matches Eden's eyeroll with one of her own, not a huge fan of having to avenge the little guy but she knows the Capitol will eat it up. "I'll find someone who can pull their weight but won't actually be a threat in the big picture. Shouldn't be hard."

For all of her fear and anxiety, it’s absolutely sick that Eden’s most prominent emotion is suddenly an intense pang of jealousy. It doesn’t happen often — she’s beautiful and she knows it, that particular trait of hers has been drilled into her since she was a little girl and has only heightened since she became a victor. But the thought of her sister who is, objectively, equally as beautiful as she is coming to take her spot would probably have her face twitching if it weren’t so frozen in place. Eden is used to being fawned over, she is used to being the golden, shining star of their family — it’s what she’s been raised for, and it’s what she’s killed for. When Silena eventually supersedes her in that, Eden’s not sure how she’ll handle it. So her default setting is, of course, deflection of her own insecurities. “Oh, you’re young,” she starts, but what could simply be a compliment on Silena’s youthful beauty obviously has a caveat. “You’ve got time to lose your baby fat before they tighten everything up. Makes everything smoother if you wait I've heard.”

Her head tilts, fingers crushing the glass of water she delicately sips at in an attempt to mask her features as she forces herself to stay in check. They’ve got more important things to worry about than this, and Eden won’t let her moments of envy be the reason her sister bleeds out in an arena. “Two’s been floundering lately but Four could be promising. If you want, it’s sometimes good to bring in someone from an outer district. Gives your alliance an easy breaking point and if you let someone else kill first, you can take the rest of them out right after. That’ll be a good chunk of your competition done for. And sponsors are suckers for a heroic Career avenging the little guy.” Eden’s eyes roll hard at that — and that certainly hadn’t been her own strategy, but Silena’s got a look of sweetness to her that could make it work. “Just something to keep in mind during training. That’s when you’ll really scope things out.”

[brutcllysoft]

Oops, nerve struck.

Gemma isn't oblivious to the sudden shift in tone when she'd rightfully criticized Jocelyn's attitude and the strategy they are apparently going with for her. Gemma's feathers are just as ruffled when it seems Hayes is criticizing her now though because she, as usual, has done nothing wrong. "Of course I take my job seriously," she gaps at him. "She should be grateful that I do. In fact, you should all be." She's icy now, irritated. The tributes lately have been such cry babies and it's clear that this year is no different. None of them ever truly grasp the gravity of their situation and what they're doing for the country. "Who does she want to align with. I can speak to their escorts and put in a good word for her to help coordinate it, or is that me taking my job too seriously?"

Pulling a face, Hayes leaned back in his seat. Shoulders rolled back so he was at least leaning with his back straight. The idea of surgery was not something he even wanted to consider as a joke. After winning the games they insisted on surgically removing most of the scars he accumulated, all except for the one over his eye that cut through his eyebrow - that one “could be a new trend in grooming”, the stylist had said about the new half centimeter wide split in the dark blonde hairs. They even fixed his hitchhiker's thumb, which he’s had before the games. Anyways. He wouldn’t voluntarily go through that again. “Yeah yeah…at least I’ll have lived long enough to be a permanent anything.” The blonde said, biting into bacon as he watched the wheels turn behind Gemma’s eyes as she processed his plan. Shifting so his elbows were on the table, Hayes nodded. “I grew up with her. Went to school with her. I know how she is. You ever think that she glowers at you ‘cuz she’s scared? ‘Cuz you take your job a little too seriously? She can make alliances. She can talk her way into people’s hearts — she learns how to do the survival shit that these careers don’t want to bother with? Jocelyn will become integral in getting them far. She can win. We all have to just start supporting that notion.” Hayes finished, looking pointedly at Gemma. 

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Okay, yeah, mark Ryder down as paranoid and theatrical, Silena thinks. Maybe that's why he won the games — the Capitol wanted to entertained by the games above all else, even if they were still claiming it was a punishment. She raises an eyebrow at him and resists the urge to roll her eyes. "I was talking about my sister," she reminds him. "She volunteered. She knew the risks and so did the rest of my family. I know you didn't." It had been a huge scandal at the time, one that Silena remembers well. "Kind of surprising, honestly. Son of a prominent member of the district... Everyone figured it would be a given you and your brother would be front runners for the games." Except they weren't and Silena was admittedly a little curious about that. Most families are clamouring over each other for the honour of competing and it didn't make sense to her that the mayor's son hadn't been a part of that. She glances away from Ryder long enough to take the drink from the Avox and smells it. While District One is well off by comparison to the outlier districts, they certainly aren't indulging in Capitol luxuries on a regular basis. The drink is sweet, almost sickly so but the blonde sips it slowly anyways. She might as well enjoy the Capitol perks just incase she does end up dying in a few weeks. "Are you gonna tell me who paid him off or are you going to make me guess?" She asks, setting the crystal glass down on the bar top.

The question made the man snort out a laugh. “Silena,” He said, his voice full of incredulity as he studied the blonde beside him. “You’re about to be in an arena where the only other living things with you want to kill you. No matter how much you trained for it, you’re going to come out a little paranoid.” Ryder still double checks every lock in his home three times before going to bed. And he crosses the street if he feels someone has been walking behind him for too long. But something told him that no matter what he said, Silena wouldn’t hear it. “I didn’t volunteer,” He reminded her -- though he wasn’t sure he had to. It had been a talking point during his games that he was the first non volunteer tribute from District 1 in years, but then again, it had been awhile, and weirder things have happened since his games. Swishing the liquid in the glass before him, brown eyes cast a sidelong glance at Silena as she took up the empty space beside him. If he was smarter, he wouldn’t elaborate. But maybe giving her just enough of the story could get him what he wanted. “The story?” Ryder mused, taking a long sip of his drink. “Simple really. My name got pulled, and it was the year Marcus was supposed to volunteer,” The victor had no idea how the decisions around who would volunteer when happened at the Career Academy, but Marcus had been talking nonstop about how it was his turn to bring pride to the District right before the reaping. “And turns out that you’re going into the arena with someone who can be bought pretty easily.”

[brutcllysoft]

Shay likes Birdie as much as she can like anyone from the Capitol and it's a loaded gun she's going to have to learn to handle. She's not entirely sure how Nico feels about the whole thing, knowing that he has never been her biggest fan. And really, she can't blame him at all. She knows Thea hates the woman, rightfully so. For now, Shay can't dwell on any of it. Can't let herself get wrapped up in the complex relationship that she has with their team and whether or not they're the devil her mind sometimes makes them out to be, or if they're just woefully ignorant people who are just doing their jobs. Their jobs are killing people, a voice reminds her, but she can't let herself get distracted with that right now. She has to keep her head on straight, has to focus on getting through the reaping and maybe she can have an existential crisis on the train.

Similarly, she can't let Nico's outburst shake her. She's jumpier now than she has ever been before, but Shay likes to think no one will hold that against her. It hadn't been long ago she'd been hunted for sport — wouldn't everyone come out of that a little fucked up? Still, her hands shake and she feels like she needs to run as far away as possible. She pushes the urge away, focusing instead on the gentle tone he apologizes in and the way his fingers stroke her hair. "It's okay, I'm fine," the words come out muffled, leaning against him and letting herself indulge in the warmth that Nico brings for just a second. She sighs, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Let's just go out there and get this over with before I throw up on you," she sighs, trying for humor though she's being more or less serious. She's been nauseous since she woke up in the early hours of the morning and has a feeling it's not going away any time soon. She lets her fingertips skate down the length of his arm when she breaks the hug, finds his hands and squeezes them both tightly before letting go so that they can join the district's mayor on stage.

"Of course you do," he smirks, rolling his eyes slightly. Shay is much easier to deal with in general and then you add that she's extremely likeable into the mix and all of a sudden Birdie is chiding him about how he could've been a good Victor like Shay. The problem was that every time Nico thinks of Shay as anyone more than Shay and sees her as a Victor he's brought back to the place where he had to choose to lose a father-figure so that he could keep his girl safe. Not that that wasn't Ezra's choice in the first place but then he had to leave Ezra to do whatever he wanted while Nico reviewed everything with Shay. She had to be ready. She had to win. That's all he could think of.

Even now, all he wants to do is protect her-- and that's why the girl has to be their choice for the winner. If the rebellion fails and Nico is inevitably hung for treason, he needs to know that he set Shay up far away from the Capitol where he could. Although he couldn't stop the Capitol's wealthy for wanting her. God only knows he wishes he could end that too while he was wrapping things up neatly in a bow, if he would be killed. Thinking of whoever the male tribute is, Nico sees no reason to train him or use sponsor funds on him but he knows he won't convince Shay otherwise. "We'll help him, then," he pauses but thinks about how he can work toward ensuring that the girl is the winner despite that. Either way, they both may die anyway but Nico sees this as another plan to help Shay so he's damn motivated. "I'm just trying to get a way to keep you home if that helps," he assures her. Nico feels way more at peace in District Two that's for sure. Even as he said his goodbyes to the District just before coming to the Reaping, there was a pang of anguish in his soulless heart.

The shock from his command clearly had backfired. How many times had he scolded himself for spooking Shay? "I'm sorry," he says lightly to her, his eyes softening at her's before leaning in to wrap his arms around her. Nico strokes her finely prepared hair lightly. "Sorry, I didn't mean it," he whispers gently. He's definitely beating the shit out of these fucking peacekeepers once she's on-stage for this. It was a PTSD episode, he'd tell them. "Come on, let's get up there and get in our places. I'll be right there with you."

[brutcllysoft]

Great, Monroe has that kicked puppy look that has Shay feeling guilty despite the voice in her head reminding her that she has nothing to feel guilty about. She doesn't owe anything to anyone from the Capitol, least of all the people who had dressed her up and sent her off to be slaughtered. It's a strange back and forth feeling, one that Shay isn't sure she's ever going to learn how to navigate. One minute, she'll hate her entire prep team — Monroe, Birdie and everyone else — and the next she'll share a moment with them and think maybe they're not all bad. But those moments feel like the worst kind of betrayal to Ezra because she needs to put his death on someone else sometimes, can't shoulder it all alone because she knows it will crush her. Isn't she doing him a disservice if she's playing nice with the people who cheered on his death? It makes her feel sick to think about how it would make him feel. But then there's Monroe — all doe eyes and olive branches and Shay doesn't have it in her to fight anymore tonight. "Nothing around my neck." She sighs, begrudgingly agreeing with the stylist. "And I want my hands free." Her fingers skate across the fabric swatch, pleased with it. It's a little rich for her, but isn't everything here? "What are you putting the tributes in for the parade? Don't say gladiator costumes. It's been done hundreds of times." Almost every games, really. It's like District Seven are usually trees and Twelve miners. It's insulting when the stylists can't even attempt something original when it could make the difference between life saving sponsors taking note of them or not.

A long time ago, Monroe learned to compartmentalize. The Games were polarizing emotionally and half the time people were terrified in the lead up. Terror made people lash out. She’s been in verbal scuffles with multiple tributes and one even stabbed her with a pair of her own shears in an attempt to escape — and her mother had been very upset that she didn’t want to get the scar surgically removed — and she’s learned not to take anything personally that was said in these apartments. But sometimes it took a little bit more time to bounce back. And she felt shitty about it. For all intents and purposes, she was the enemy. From the Capitol. Someone not to be trusted, and why should she expect anyone to be cool about her being there. She counted to ten in her head and put a soft smile on her face as she passed the sketchbook over. “Right. Well. There are designs for your tribute in there for the interview — you know her better than I do so if there are any suggestions…There’s a design in there for you too. For…when you have to talk to sponsors.” She didn’t say watch the games. The entire point of this was to not think about that part. "Fabric swatch in there too. It's breathable, loose and everything's off the neck." Exhaling a little bit she shrugs. "...figured it might help if your clothes didn't feel like they were choking you." Her voice trailed off. God she felt so stupid. This olive branch was going to bite her in the ass.

[brutcllysoft]

SHAMELESS. 8X08 | FRANK’S NORTHERN SOUTHERN EXPRESS.

[brutcllysoft]

This time Silena really does roll her eyes, letting out a quiet sound of disapproval. "Are you always this paranoid?" She asks, raising a brow at him. Is this what she's in for for the next few weeks? Constant paranoia and suspicion about something Silena couldn't be less interested in while he drowns himself in free booze? "Everyone here has stabbed someone's sister," she points out, referring to the victors. "That's the risk that comes with volunteering. Obviously we would have preferred it to be the other way around — no offence. But don't flatter yourself to think that my family has been sitting around the dinner table plotting your downfall." Silena misses Opal so much sometimes that she can hardly bare it, but the truth is this was how they were raised. It just is what it is. There's nothing anyone can do about it, and to hold resentment and anger over it is only going to give her premature wrinkles. At least it was someone from One and not some scrawny nobody from Twelve who took her sister out — or even worse, death from the elements. Boring. What isn't boring is his obvious reaction to her prodding about Marcus and it sparks her interest. "Wow, you're batting a thousand with tributes this year, huh?" She plants herself on a bar stool, one leg swinging up to cross over the other and her chin falling to rest in her upturned palm, leaning on the bartop. "What's the story there?"

Waving at the Avox standing behind the bar, motioning to Silena to silently say to get her whatever she wanted, Ryder drained the liquid out of the glass in front of him, flipping the glass so it was upside down on the cool marble of the bar. “I think,” He hummed, brown eyes tracking the movement of the blonde woman. The comment about revenge may have been a joke, but they were alone now, and he was pretty sure that the Career Academy taught you how to kill and make it look like an accident. “That your family is too smart to do anything obviously. Maybe you’ve been waiting.” Arching an eyebrow upwards he watched as his upside down glass was replaced with a fresh drink. Dragging his thumb against the rim, the victor stared at her. “We’re not friends,” He snapped, eyes dark with anger at the simple idea. But was that fair? Because they were friends once. “Yeah I’m sure it’s been eating you up inside.” He rolled his eyes a little bit before taking a sip from the glass in front of him. “That’s not the problem, though. So I’m not going to be the one getting in your way.”

[brutcllysoft]

Gemma has never really understood how the gamemaker's minds work and she supposes that's why she'd never considered that path. Her own creative streak is better put to use writing speeches and matching outfits rather than coming up with the latest twists and turns of the Hunger Games. She remembers her mother telling her once it takes a special kind of person to do that job and she hadn't entirely been sure if it was a compliment or not, but she chooses to believe it was. Even if Elias does make her skin crawl just a little. She can't put her finger on why and frankly, she doesn't have time to worry about it. She's got enough on her plate right now, she doesn't need to add Elias Whitlock's offputting vibes on her plate. So she ships her champagne, smiling politely and hums. "I'm sure the games will be wonderful, as always." She really does mean that. Even if they come with a painful bout when her tributes inevitably die, Gemma knows the games are a necessary evil in their world. "Their first impressions left a lot to be desired, but I'm not ready to count them out yet. They've both got some spark in them. You never know what could happen." Now that, she doesn't mean. Of course they're both going to get slaughtered but she can't go advertising that, can she?

@brutcllysoft

Elias has had quite the time enjoying watching the various tributes flail. While the Games are already set and the Arena is just about perfect, he finds himself humored when tributes focus on the wrong things. In Games when there's nothing but a barren wasteland, they climb trees. When there's so much water that none of them bothered to get lessons on, he counts how many will simply drown. He crosses off those that look too feeble to even make it past the first round of fighting, figuring if they last through that it'll just be more fun to kill the under dog after the audience latches onto them. Today opened up to escorts, stylists, and mentors to sit around and chat to the gamemakers to schmooze and mingle among them. Elias gives all of them a grin, despite the feeling he gets on the inside when people try to win his favor. "Gemma," he greets with that same painful notion of 'happy to see you'. Every escort and stylist is trying to be well-known and famous, which treads on his own gains in those areas. The spotlight for him simply cannot be shared. "Have any new Victors in your midst? This is going to be a great games this year," he asks with a casual demeanor.

[brutcllysoft]

While Gemma is a lot of things, stupid isn't one of them. Clueless, tactless, tone deaf, sure, an argument could be made for all of those. But she isn't stupid and she knows that Hayes gets a certain enjoyment out of making her life difficult and tormenting her — as if she wasn't having a bad enough time here. The tributes certainly weren't making anything easier on her, the least Hayes could do was try to form a united front with her and take her expert advice. "You're going to become a permanent hunchback at this rate," she sighs dramatically. "Of course, we could fix that with an afternoon of surgery but then I would have to come up with an excuse as to where you went and the tributes would miss out on a lot of training and almost certainly die." Not that she has a whole lot of faith in either of them anyways. She breaths out a loud 'hah' when Hayes explains their strategy so far. "The social game? For Jocelyn? How is the girl to make alliances when all she does is glower?" Though maybe that's just reserved for Gemma.

“Right. And I’ll stand up straight when I interact with them.” A shit eating grin graced his features as he watched the escort silently debate if she actually wanted to take him up on the offer to sit down. His grin fell at the mention of his past tributes. In reality, Hayes knows that there’s only so much he can do for the tributes once they’re in the arena. He can get them sponsors, he can give them advice. But once they’re actually in the games, it was up to them. But when they died, it always hit him a little hard. And the stark reminder that he was probably letting them down made Hayes’ blue eyes go stormy. “I do my best.” He said. Slouching back in his chair which was the opposite of what she wanted, but that was his quiet rebellion against the way she made him feel. Sighing as she asked about his plan, Hayes nodded. “Yep,” his lips popped on the last syllable, drumming his fingers against the table in front of him. “For Joce we’re focusing on the social game. Honing in on the basic survival skills. Alliances, all that.” Sitting up a little bit, Hayes looked pointedly at the empty seats before them. “I’ve got everything under control. It’s the other one you should be worried about.”