eat your fill . jupiter / safina

[pogue]

J  U  P  I  T  E  R

Jupiter makes his way through the cafeteria with a tower in his hand, plate stacked high with an assortment of meats and cheeses and everything savory. It's a delicate game, grabbing another plate for the desserts and learning how to perfectly balance it. Career training was all blades and steel, not sweets and ceramic.

"You know, none of this will be available to you in the arena."

Tallu had scolded him for the senseless eating, followed by a general tip to avoid eating with his hands so often, followed then by a look of disgust when he'd carved into a chicken thigh with his bare fingertips, juice and skin stuck under the nails. There's truth in the sentiment of preparing for the Games, just not in the execution. Jupiter knows its a trap, that a life of luxury only ends in gluttony and never ending desire. But he can't help it, he's a needle lost in a haystack of everything that glitters, eyes on the prize but constantly swayed by gold and silver laid out before him.

There's luxuries here not even One could afford, not that he'd ever known the upper limits of riches back there, anyways.

Besides, the Dining Hall had the added benefit of being an amazing spot to people watch and, as forced by his team, actually talk to his fellow tributes. There were a lot hungrier bellies than his ever was, he had the self-awareness to admit that, so it's easy to see why there was a constant stream of tributes filtering in and out of the hall. 

He thinks it foolish, superiority complex riddling his brain. They should be training, hoping, wishing, not eating.

"Should eat more." Jupiter says as he sits down lazily diagonal to the nearest tribute, girl from three. Jupiter flicks through the list of names in his mind as if it will do him any good, bombardment of Capitol elites burying any hope of recognizing, connecting to any other tributes besides the Careers. "Nourishment before the arena, all that." He adds, splitting apart a chicken wing in two before devouring it. "Here-" 

With a swipe of his hand he slides the small dessert plate over to her, croissant buried underneath a myriad of other assortments, "- dig in." 

Testing the waters, seeing how she'd react to him, how he reacts to her. It's a game more fun than fulfilling, pretending soon-to-be opponents are friends, that enemies are allies.

Kindness couldn't exist between them, but neutrality could. At least, for now.

[D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler]]

[googlefont="Cinzel Decorative"]

Safina Roy

eat your fill - I

"Should eat more."

He addresses me before he's even finished sitting down in the empty chair on the other side of the table. Great, the conversation has begun before I had any chance to try and avoid it. Not that I had any straightforward excuse to leave the table: my portioned plate remained half full, my stomach still too empty, my principles refusing to let any crumb of it go to waste. To just stand, plate in hand, and find another spot to sit would only serve to make my path through the next few days an enemy harder than they already will be. All I can do is meet eyes with the boy from One.

"Nourishment before the arena, all that." He continues as his eyes drop from mine towards the piece of chicken he's tearing apart in his hands. There is no shortage to the food on his plates - One contains more meats and cheeses and vegetables than one person would need in a meal. Possibly in a day, even. Another, smaller plate is so filled with sweets and pastries that I view it as a small miracle it hasn't avalanched its contents onto the table. A reflexive look of disgust crosses my face for a moment at this reckless decadence, as the memory of a different plate being scraped into the trash pops into my mind. Let them fish it from the garbage. I think Emon would get along with this boy from One.

I bring my eyes back to the face of the Career, forgetting for a moment the look on my face and quickly replacing the disgust with neutrality. He didn't seem to notice, instead his attention seemed to be fully on the chicken rapidly disappearing down his throat. He is the perfect image of a man who does not seem to know what it is to want for something. How can you, when you get everything you want?

"Here-" he slides the dessert mountain in my direction. "- dig in." I had almost thought he had stopped paying attention to me entirely, but it seems not. On paper the gesture seems like a kindness, but I sense it runs deeper than that. It feels more like a display of his power. Look at me, I am giving this away because I have the power to do so. He knows so many come from poverty, the uncertainty of the next meal, and no room to question how full that meal will be. Here he is with so much food he doesn't need to worry about keeping it all for himself.

Looks like I'm about to play a different kind of Hunger Games.

I grab a powdered cube from atop the mountain of delicacies. "Thanks," I reply, not unkindly but not with any degree of warmth or gratitude in my voice. I look into his eyes as I pop the cube into my mouth. "I always leave some room for dessert." I lick the powder off of my fingers and break eye contact for just a moment to take in the rest of his face. How am I faring in the little game he's playing? I take my freshly-licked fingers and grab the next item on the pile, a shortbread cookie shaped into the seal of the Capitol. I hold it up as I look back into his eyes. "What, are you going to let me eat these sweets all on my own?"

[WC: 576]