glorified baby sitter { maya x jr. gm poppy }

[k!ah]

The image of my name inked onto the contracts is seared onto the back of my eyelids. After the meeting I had been ushered back to my hospital room and instantly I had crumpled onto the twisted sheets of the bed. I was exhausted, my whole body ached, and my head was spinning.

Everything was moving so quickly- and I should be happy by that! Thats what I wanted, what I had demanded, but it felt like my whole body, mind and soul had just been rammed into a brick wall and I had only just caught up.

But the moment doesn't last long because the minute I close eyes the nurse, from early, enters the room. "Your going home today- now actually. Pack up your things and I will take you downstairs. Junior Gamemaker Poppy Suaali will meet you down stairs." I groan inwardly, pushing myself up from the bed. I was starting to get sick of seeing Poppy Suaali's face. She had come to see me briefly over the last couple days. A peppiness about her that had really irked me- especially since the last thing I wanted to see was the person partially responsible for my body being poked full of holes like a human pin cushion. Oh, and the fact that because of her I was now a mass murder. Thanks you, for that, Poppy Suaali.

Yeah, fuck that bitch.

Though, I suppose, in some twisted and totally fucked up way, I owed her a thank you. After all, without these games I would be another dead traitor buried in a nameless grave.

Downstairs I come face to face with Poppy and for the first time I am fully aware, fully tapped in. "So, they send you as my farewell party. I suppose you want me to thank you? You saved my life, thats what I am supposed to do right?" I glare at her, wrapping my shirt around me a little tighter. "You can stop holding your breath, cause their ain't no way I'm thanking your flat ass-" not true, but that is so not the point at the moment- "for turning me into a killer."

If I was being totally honest with myself, I wasn't all that concerned with what I did in the arena. I could still feel Pascals dying breath on my face as I choked him out. I could still hear Chant choking on his own blood... But I had no regrets. And I would do it again in a heart beat because I was going home and not back to that fucking cell.

"Just tell me why you're little masters sent you running down here to see me off like a good little girl."

[Cait]

poppy suaali

I took far longer than necessary to comb out my hair this morning. A five minute job had taken a painstaking half an hour, and if that isn’t procrastination in its finest form, then I don’t know what is.

I’d say the reprieve was warranted – that I was so important that the only time I got to myself were the precious hours in the morning after waking up to a blaring alarm. That after being thrust into a brand new role – Junior Gamemaker – in the midst of the Capitol chaos, the world had opened up for me.

But the truth is, I’m still a nobody. Just Poppy the intern.

Poppy the intern with beautifully combed hair, of course, ‘cause I’d be damned if I didn’t put my best face forward, regardless of how few people saw it.

When I finally emerge from my bedroom into an empty hallway, I know I’m late. And maybe if I was reporting to Wolfgang, I wouldn’t have spent so long caught up in my own thoughts, absent-mindedly working on knots that had been untangled twenty brushstrokes ago. But now, I take my time as I walk. I’m already late – I may as well go all out with it.

Put simply, I’d been distracted this morning.

Once the Games had finished and been deemed a success, I thought I would be sent home with a pat on the back and a couple of impressive names to add to my reference list, for future employment purposes. What I’d gotten instead was a slew of new responsibilities I never signed up for – some of which I was quite thrilled about (see: party planning!). But others… well, let’s just say they left more to be desired.

(“You want me to babysit the girl?”)

(“Babysit, befriend, spy on, etcetera. Whatever you want to call it. It doesn’t change the fact that she must not be left on her own.”)

She’s already waiting for me in the departure room, ready to return home. Home. I find myself wondering what waits for her back in Three. How anyone could bare to go back to that miserable way of living after having a taste of freedom.

(“She’ll relate to you.”)

In this frozen snapshot of a moment, it’s blindingly obvious that we have as much in common as chalk and cheese.

A sense of unease washes over me as we stare at each other. Before, there’d been some soft security blanket pulled tightly around my shoulders in the form of isolated rooms separate from the killing spree simultaneously taking place. The thin, transparent sheets of Perspex had made me feel worlds away from the other children.

Now, the lone survivor surveys me like I’m a piece of meat, no more than ten steps away from me. She’s a wild thing, something that’s been broken down and stitched back up but not quite the same as before.

Unstable. Dangerous.

How do you make a murderer like you?

I’m prepared for the sass permeating her words, and I wonder how long she’s been preparing her little speech for. I let her ramble for a bit, just to get the weight off of her chest, trying to ignore the hammering of my heart against my ribcage. Too late, I realise I probably should have asked for security to be in here too.

Unstable. Dangerous.

“Well, technically there’s still a whole extra party being planned in your honour,” I begin, keeping my voice light, thinking about all of the upcoming events that still need to be planned and wishing – not for the first time – that I’d been given the fun jobs like that. “But I don’t think you’re meant to know about that yet. So… surprise!” I thrust my hands out in front of me in a dramatic fashion, wiggling my fingertips at her stony face enthusiastically.

She’s not amused, of course. I already knew she wasn’t going to be the party type. That’s fine. We can work on it.

I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly in response to her last question. “I guess they wanted to make you feel more comfortable on your trip home? They probably thought you’d be more receptive to a girl in her twenties than some crusty old white guy.” I pause, considering the facts.

“Or maybe they just wanted to make sure you didn’t try to kill anyone else on the way out.” I leave out the part about me being as harmless as a puppy – that she could stab me through the heart before I had time to bat an eyelash at the fact.

“I know I’m not your favourite person in the world right now. I’m not thrilled about this arrangement either. But recently I’ve come to learn that life has a funny way of working out. Sometimes we got thrown into situations we never imagined for ourselves, and it can feel like we’re drowning. But we gotta swim. We gotta try.” I look at her, raw honesty painted across my face, hoping she understands what I’m trying to say.