neon nights [shy/nixie] 90th

[kap]

Style Street: I'd yet to come to this part of the Capitol before, and it was certainly strange to make my first outing to the area at night. Most places were closed, like the tattoo shops, the fashion boutiques and the hair salons. A few buildings were still lit up with neon lights despite no longer being open for the day. Honestly, it was a bit of a strange feeling for the Capitol. Emptiness, that is. There were very few people out and about here, but I suppose that's why Shy had decided this was where and when we should meet.

Shy seemed to keep himself out of the spotlight the best that he could. Meanwhile, I was being showered in paparazzi during pretty much every minute of daylight that I wasn't in the training center with the new tributes or other victors. Luckily, they mostly seemed to do a good job of leaving me alone at night, even if I did decide to wander out and about.

Most nights since arriving in the Capitol I'd spent in the room I was meant to be sleeping in. Admittedly, not much sleep actually occurred, as my mind was on how to best train my tributes so that one of them could become a victor like me, no matter how low the likelihood actually was of that turning out the way I wanted it to. Tonight, though, I'd wandered outside and met up with Shy. He'd requested it, and I was hardly going to turn down meeting up with another victor when I was trying to get myself acquainted with the group of them the best that I could.

I wanted to be on the good side of as many of them as I could, although I knew that inevitably some of them wouldn't care to have anything to do with me. I wasn't apologetic for killing in the Games, after all, and that was something that I wouldn't have been surprised if some of them didn't like. I was still a career through and through. Apologizing for doing what I trained a good chunk of my life for wasn't really in my line of vision any time soon, if ever at all.

Shy's story was an interesting one, and honestly, if made me wonder what the other victors thought of him as well. He'd been revived from his death in the eightieth Games, only to be reaped again in the eighty-sixth and actually win the whole thing. It was a story that'd impressed me when it happened, and it gave me some respect for the guy. He'd been through a lot. More than I had, at least.

When I actually saw Shy, I waved to him and made sure he saw me before approaching. I wanted to make sure I didn't catch him off guard and end up startling him. Startling a victor was one of the last things you wanted to do, if you asked me, especially when they were recent victors, as they were likely still a bit on guard after all they'd been through. I wasn't easily startled, but I knew if someone did manage to sneak up on me, I'd likely have more of a 'fight' response than a 'flight' response.

"Hey," I said to Shy when I approached him. "I'm Nixie," I said, extending my hand for him to shake in greeting. It probably wasn't as casual of an approach as he wanted, but it was instinct to greet people respectfully with a handshake at this point. I'd been conditioned to look good for the Capitol's cameras already, despite only having been out of the arena for a short time now.

"Something in particular you were hoping to do?" I asked him, definitely more relaxed and casually this time. It was less of a crafted set of words as I spoke to him now, trying my best to just be myself and not some fake product of the Capitol. Sure, I was a career and I'd trained for the Games. Sure, the fame and glory is what I wanted, but I wasn't going to let the real me get lost in all of it. That just wasn't how this worked.

I was too strong for that.

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702 words

{ table by rose }

[uwu]

S H Y .

Everything was too much. The constantly bright and extravagant colors, the glaring stare of the lights shining on every crack and hole, the people. The people are the worst. They think I'm some sort of miracle, a celebrity. Everyone kept running up to me, asking me questions about how I was doing or what the games were like, or if they could have an autograph. Why? I shouldn't be alive. I'm a walking shell of who I was, a monster even. Do they have no clue of what the games are like? Coming here was a mistake. I don't know why I'm here.

After the first day, I refused to come out of my room. It wasn't worth it. Nobody interested me. The District 2 tributes seemed to know what they were doing. I'm good with not interacting with people. The catering straight to the door was a huge plus as well. People gave me a headache anyway. Or maybe it was the lack of painkillers and/or alcohol. That does it to a dude. Hangovers are as lit as being reaped a third time.

The only bad thing about not leaving my room is the god-awful perception of time. Staying sober was the worst because the seconds inched forward. Given, I didn't NEED to stay sober. I could request whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, but that meant dealing with an avox. Sadly, they're still people, even if they can't speak. Is that a rude thing to say? 'even if they can't speak'? Shit now I feel bad.

"Wait, where am I?"

The bottle of whatever I was holding drops to the ground as I look around. When did I leave my housing? Night took over the city, with a shade of dark laying over everything. If I could see straight, I would have described it as peaceful and beautiful. Is this still the Capitol? Can this place even get this quiet? I have to be dreaming. I stumble forward and my foot goes further down than expected onto the street with the rest of my body following.

I don't need to look down to realize that I fucked up and that I'm gonna have to deal with all this before I hop into clean sheets. That, and I'm gonna need some painkillers before every shower. And in general. I think I'm out again. Do I really need them for a scracth? Yeah, I think it's serious enough. Could get infected. But do they stop infections? Pain is an infection. Yeah, you're right.

The sound of footsteps comes from one side of the street, accompanied by its body. Whoever it is sends me a wave at me and I squint in the darkness. God DAMMINT. Why are people out at this time of night? Why am I out at this time of night? "Hey. I'm Nixie." She extends her hand. That name sounds familiar. I take the hand and shake. "Nice... to meet you... Sixie... I mean... Twixie... Nixie..." Why? I don't know what's going on anymore. Why is she giving me a handshake? Is this a prank?

"Something, in particular, you were hoping to do?" I give her a blank stare. This has to be a dream. When did I talk to her? I rub my temple with my hand. Was I drunk? Did I drink? Shit. I had to have been drunk. Black out drunk probably. Did I leave my room one night? And go to her room? When did I ask for help? Have I met her before? Everything is such a blur.

"Nothing, in particular, I guesh." goddamnit my speech is shit. I squint at her again. "You wouldn't happen to be down to..." I glance around and catch the bottle I had dropped earlier. I drop down to pick it up, which I should know by now that picking up broken glass isn't a good idea. "I do have a queshton." I clear my throat. "A question for you." I stand back up with the remains in my hand. "How're you holding up with... everything?" Did she ask a question? I think she did. Shit. What'd she say? Wait, which games is she from? How do I know she's not a Capitolite in disguise? Shit. I squint at her again. "You said you're Nixie, right? Which games are you from again? Must have missed it."

mahouho & elegant

[kap]

"Nice... to meet you... Sixie... I mean... Twixie... Nixie..." The man who shakes my hand sounds far beyond just intoxicated. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. I'd heard he was like that, and after having been through the Games twice, I suppose I didn't really blame the guy. I had heard of quite a few people who'd called the bottle their only friend after just one bout of being in the arena.

When I'd asked him what he was hoping to do when we met up, he told me it was nothing in particular, which made me wonder if he'd just flat out forgotten. That was certainly possible, given his current state. His eyes squint at me and he starts to ask me one question before picking up the broken bottle he'd dropped before I'd approached and then leading straight into another question.

First he was trying to ask me if I'd be down for something, hoping he was implying drinking or something of the like, since he was picking up the bottle he'd dropped. I wasn't sure what else I'd really want to do alongside this guy. He definitely wasn't all there right now.

The next question he asked me was how I was holding up with everything… and what Games I was from. He also confirmed what my name was in the process of asking me my Games. I let out a slight laugh when he asked the second part of that question. I appreciated the initial concern, but it was kind of strange that he couldn't remember the most recent Games. It made me wonder if he even watched anymore. Perhaps not, I supposed. It could've been too much for him to see it all after having been through it twice. That would make sense, I guess.

"I'm holding up pretty well," I said with a slight smile, "Thanks for asking, and yeah, it's Nixie. Eighty-Ninth Games, so… last year," I told him. I had to act as if he didn't know who I was at all, because, well, there was a good chance he really didn't have a clue.

It was kind of strange but kind of nice to meet someone who didn't know the name Nixie Summers yet. Or, at least, didn't remember it. Although, I would hate for brain damage from all the alcohol he had consumed to be the reason. I just hoped he had blocked it all out and not watched. I'd watched people crash into knowing nothing but the bottom of a bottle of booze, and I didn't like seeing it.

"Since neither of us really know why we decided to meet here," I decided to continue. "How about we start by having you put down that broken bottle? It's not the best idea."

I gave him a gentle smile, my face lit dimly by the neon lights of the storefront nearest to me.

"After that, we can figure out what else we want to do here. I'm open to suggestions," I told him, hoping it didn't sound weird. I was never good with words, and I didn't want to sound like I was open to any illegal shit. I just wanted to have a good time meeting another victor, but I had a feeling it was difficult for Shy to have a good time anymore.

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548 words

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