well from the inside [rook]

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

Another viewing party in a public space. Whats new? Nothing if Annie was being honest. Well, except for the fact that all eyes were on her again. The amount of times she has had tributes come close to come out of the games spoke volumes about her mentorship. At least, that is what she heard from the masses as she tried her hardest to refuse the drinks they kept trying to shove down her throat. Its nippy here, but she prepared with a thick sweater over the casual business suit that she had made just for herself. She pulled the glass of water closer to her, nursing it as she tried to think of anything else that she would rather be doing here.

She was here out of obligation, not because she actually wanted to be. 

To be quite clear, she was impressed that she had yet another tribute come close to the crown. In the course of her ten year run as a victor, she has always had a tribute come relatively close. Getting Beck out was a dream, but now Nixie? That was where the myth lied.

And as much as Annie wanted to believe in the truth, it wasn’t in her hands to decide the girls fate. It was her own, and Annie could do nothing about it. She wasn’t even allowed to sponsor, her attempt on her own life caused a lot more strife then she thought. She wasn’t to be trusted, and she didn’t blame anyone.

She didn’t even trust herself.

She heard the ruckus on the TV screen, and she figured that meant that they were getting ready to end this whole thing, and Annie was ready for a break. Sure, if Nixie had come out of this, Annie would have probably been thrusted in the lime light, seeing as she would be the only victor to get two tributes out during the course of 10 years. Sure, she lost Arc in the beginning, but Nixie had kept the momentum, she was tough, and even reminded Annie of herself. She would do what she needed to do, Annie knew that much. Annie would have to do what she needed to as well.

But for now, her goal was to get fresh air, because suffocating amongst people that she did not like was not the way she wanted to go. Actually, any way to death would have been acceptable at this point, but Annie promised herself, and Trish specifically, that she would not pull that shit again under any circumstances. So taking herself out of the situation was always the play. 

With Sailor managing to keep as many people at bay as possible, Annie slipped to the back of the ballroom, her body pressed against the wall as she opened one of the garden style doors and felt the cool winter air press against her skin. She forgot how high up she was, and while she looked out over the night sky, she wondered just how infinite she would have felt if she had just did the deed. She dared not go near the balcony, the temptation being there a little too long. She looked back to her scar and then remembered that she did move past the suicidal tendencies. 

She heard the door click behind her, and the sound from the party had appeared again before dipping low. She did not pause or turn around. She was used to being cornered after all. ”I should know better huh?” Annie sighed audibly.

She pressed forward, realizing that she would always have them, but with her hands feeling the cool granite, she sighed and looked out over the capitol. 

They would always be there. 

”Ill be back in there in a minute, I just need a second to breath.”

So would she.

[rook]

♕

The idle chit chat of a hundred strangers struggles to stride past the quickening vibrato of hired violins rising in both pitch and volume by the second. Beneath the well rehearsed performance of the orchestra capitolites dine on revels, indulging themselves too much to notice the screens around the room showing Cecily Deerling lying dead in the grass.

They look at her image, but they don't see her.

I lean over a clothed oak table, both palms pressed downwards, my head staring at the wooden floor between my feet. My breaths are quick but steady, working through the emotions I have felt time and time again. Another year, another two dead. Looking up briefly at the LED screen to see her lifeless face again, I swallow my regret and my shame, and exhale again. It's the hope that kills you.

The violins finish their symphony, and in the brief pause between songs on their song-sheets I find refuge, slipping away from sponsors and escorts and staggering out on the balcony. The great double glass doors shut firmly behind me, and the swelling of the violins shrink, the great murmur of voices retreats. I'm alone for now.

The cold air on my face is a comfort, cooling my hot flushed cheeks. I run a hand through my thick inky black dyed hair and take in the sounds of the city. The distant whirling of hovercraft by the boundary, the humming of the monorail, the whistling wind. Hate to admit it, but this place has been a second home to me for over twenty years now. I've come to depend on it's curious nature, much like it's come to depend on me.

A voice calls to me through the darkness, and I see a silhouette of a figure facing away from me, staring out into the night. I know the voice, I see the shape of her face in the moonlight. Annie Morrisen. What's this, nearly ten years since she climbed out of the arena and learned the other twenty-three were still alive? The only one of us to never have killed. The clean-hands Victor. How must that feel, I wonder?

I see her close to the edge. Maybe she feels the calling of the void. I've been there. The void spat me back out.

"I'll be back in there in a minute. I just need a second to breathe." She says, not fully turning around.

"It's just me." I walk over to her and lean against the balcony too, the waist of my black dress getting damp on the cold metal railing.

"Smoke?" I offer a half-empty carton in her direction.