#( baby sterling looked and sounded like such a dorkus omg )

[sterlingwhitvale]

“I’m sorry, that–That must’ve sounded like some sort of come-on.  It wasn’t.  I mean, not that I wouldn’t, you know, but…I wasn’t.  Coming on to you, that is.”  At this point he was about ready to walk up to the nearest peacekeeper and cause a scene just to escape his own stupidity.  Sterling wasn’t a smooth talker by any means, but he also wasn’t someone who often stumbled over his words, and at the moment, he felt out of control over his own body, it was disconcerting.  Especially as he knew he must be coming off as some sort of games obsessed fan, which was laughable to anyone who knew him.  Perhaps he wasn’t a fan of the games, but he had been of her.  Although, fan still felt like an odd word.  He had admired her, the way she had stayed strong for her family, for her brothers. 

 His own sister hadn’t been able to, not that he blamed her.  But as he had clung on to her in front of the crowds, tears spilling down young cheeks, she had started wailing.  Maybe it was because she had known, known that there was no way she’d make it out alive.  That it was her last time seeing her family.  If that was the case, now, he wanted to applaud her for making a scene, making everyone witness the destruction they were causing.  Try, however fruitlessly, to instill even an ounce of guilt into the capitolites that watched the reapings, even if that hadn’t been the purpose at all.

“I mean, I don’t blame you.  It’s pretty addicting.  I’m just glad my apartment still smells like it, otherwise I’d have to go a whole 8 hours without  it.” he replied, a small, sarcastic smile tickling his lips.  He remembered being surprised, though, seeing her father back at work.  For some reason, he had it in his mind that those who won the games were set for life.  But, now, he realized how naive that was.  Of course they weren’t, that would be too generous.  If they lost workers from every family that had a victor, that’d be hundreds of employees they couldn’t work to death, and then where would they be?

It became blatantly clear to him the older he became, just how much of a scam the entire thing was, from head to toe.  And sometimes, he wondered, as horrible as her death had been, if his sister had met the kinder fate.

When Cecelia had won her games, she had thought that things would get easier for her family. No more fifteen-hour shifts for her dad at the mill, and her mother could stop embroidering all of the Capitol's clothes. Her brothers would be safe and would have enough food to nourish their growing bodies. She had been partially right. She had enough food and space now, but her mother and father still had to work and her brothers still faced the fear of Reaping day every year. Woof had prepared her to win during those days after her name came out of the Reaping, but he never could have prepared her for the hell hat came after. The nightmares that still woke her up night after night, the way that people looked at her when she walked through the town square. For the expectations of the Capitol, for the lovers that she had no choice but to indulge whenever the Capitol called. He hadn't told her about the listlessness that sank in sometime after she won, no longer needing to work in the factories, her days went on endlessly, the memories of her dead tributes haunting her. He couldn't prepare her for losing her first tribute the next year, and the hell of having to sit with her family as they sobbed and grieved the loss of their daughter.

She knew her parents were worried about her, that she appeared to be going through the motions, barely living, barely breathing. Woof came by every day to check on her, to try to snap her out of it, but it had all become a little bit too much, and there were days when she barely got herself out of bed.

The only thing that seemed to work, that seemed to give her a semblance of a routine was meeting her father in the mill for breakfast sometimes, or lunch, depending on his schedule. Her win had brought good fortune to her father, he had been promoted to factory manager.

So lost in her thoughts she hadn't noticed the man coming towards her, and it seemed that he hadn't noticed either, because the next thing she knew, they had collided. The first thing that Cecelia noticed about him was his eyes. They were kind despite the obvious exhaustion on his face. The citizens of Eight were always exhausted. How many hours had he been working in the mill?

What's someone like you doing around here?

Cecelia had to laugh. Otherwise, she might cry. She didn't want to be different but winning those Games had damned her to be different. No longer a normal citizen of Eight, but not someone Capitol either. What was she?

"Oh, I don't know, I must've taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way, I must've really missed the stench of sulfur," she teased lightly, a smile on her lips. She lifted the basket that she was holding in her other hand. "I'm bringing my dad his breakfast."