this nine to five ain't workin' // tsi&mav

[minie]

It hadn’t exactly been very difficult to find a way to smuggle a six pack into the training center. Some kids who had wanted some hunger games memorabilia. They had been more than willing to trade an arrow that one of the career’s had held in their very hands. Honestly, I don’t even think any of them had held that specific arrow in their hands. Not that it would matter as long as the girls believed they did. Their eager faces lighting up with inexplicable joy as I handed it to them wrapped in a capitol sanctioned towel. It left me with a sour taste in my mouth.

We really were just a form of entertainment. There never would be any humanity in this. For a second the morbidity of the situation lingered on my lips. Then I caught myself wondering; what would any of Marcellus’s stuff been worth. The once in a lifetime chance to own something from a dead tribute. A black market almost more despicable than the games.

Oh well. Beggers can’t be choosers.

No one in eleven could be mad that the idea of selling the cup my dead boyfriend-

(could I even call him that?)

(For marketing purposes.)

- had once drank from, with a sprinkle of false sentiment, could make me a few bucks. We all needed the money; Marcellus knew that more than anyone. I doubt he would have liked to see me begging in the soup kitchens for a meal. Stupid justifications for a wicked thought.

When the lights to the training center dimmed, the hallways almost felt haunted. Abandoned by the goody-two-shoes of the lot. The rule sticklers and the ones with a better sense of morality. It had become habit for me to roam those empty halls, exploring the hidden corners the training center had to offer. After the last few days on a mission to find my spot, I had claimed a corner of the library as my own. There was a wooden table that had seen better days, but it carried history in the scratches it burdened. The familiarity I so desperately sought out my first day here, and I had found it.

The library was much like a bar. People convened at tables, discussing numerous topics that no one really was an expert on. At least not here, not with the kind of stories lurking between the pages. Down in the room with weapons, it felt like I was prey. Careers with their chin’s in the air; ready to pounce as soon as they got a whiff of insecurity.

With the lights dimmed and the room empty, I put my feet up on the table. The first bottle of beer in my hand, I had opened with another bottle already sitting on the table.

“Cheers” I whispered to the shadows and whoever might be lurking behind them. Not even that far off as I heard footsteps between the aisles. “You want a drink?” I called out to why just might as well be a ghost. I had enough to share. C'mon I got a few more, we can share stories in the dark." Anonymity in our favor, the night was best for turning strangers into friends.

ELEGANT

[[nyte]]

M A V E R I C K   H A L E

I'm on my own right now. It's a healthy dose of homesickness. Stretching heartstrings until I can pick at the places they're knotted around his. Sometimes I just need the misery, and that's a hard thing to accomplish around Brad. I hold love like grudges, it's not often kind. And I'm trying not to hurt him.

(This time.)

The library is the most bearable part of the Training Center. Towers of leather and ink to lose yourself in. I'll unwind skin into parchment and blood into ink, leave pieces of myself so that at least I'll be a story after I'm gone. I'm sure there's nowhere that's truly safe from the Capitol's keen observation, but I press my tongue into my cheek and entertain the fantasy. That I can be alone here. That I can wear my thoughts without worrying about who will read them.

Some other tributes gather around tables. Filling the space with whatever small talk one makes with their future murderer. I'm not so good at that part, that's Brad's job. Everyone's drawn to him like moths to flame - I merely hold the privilege of burning the longest.

"Cheers." I startle, elbow smacking into a shelf behind me. A string of curses muddle into a hiss through my teeth and - fuck - trying to do this without Brad is a lot like breathing without lungs. "You want a drink?" Well, there's certainly no shot at pretending I'm not here, and I'm still searching for a poison that'll end this quick and clean.

So, fuck it.

She's got the same kind of melancholy as me. Shadows cling to her even after I've approached the table. "You're uh..." I lean my forearms on the table, eager as carbonation escapes the second bottle like a death rattle. "Tsiuri?" I've always been good with names and faces. The thinking that comes before feeling.

"Maverick." I make no assumption that I am as memorable. Instead I take the bottle by the neck and take a long drag. Not deadly, but still poison. "But that's too much of a mouthful, Mav is fine." I look at her only in brief glances, eyes flitting to the other tributes and the books in between. Can she tell I'm nervous? "Kinda risky inviting just anyone for a drink. Are you lonely or just naive?"

I wince, that wasn't what I was trying to say.

But, well, it's out there now.

ELEGANT

[minie]

His curls are messy in waves compared to mine, each one falling in a perfect coil.

It could have been anyone coming out from behind the shelves, but I had a feeling. The goody-two-shoes, careers and well behaved have already laid their heads down to rest. Not that I was a troublemaker, quit the contrary, I always seemed to be resolving conflicts that were not my own. Getting between fights of drunken men and telling their wives to calm down whenever they came around screaming and cursing. It had always been my voice filling in the silence when Marcus could no longer find his words.

This one, Mav, he hadn’t any troubles with missing words. Unafraid of me sitting in a dim-lit corner, offering up his name whilst he drank all that I really had to offer. The twitch of his false confidence letting the façade of whatever it had been falter. I was never one to be afraid of strangers, but there was something in his eyes that seemed all too familiar. Maybe it was a bit of my own self reflecting at me, in the way he rests his elbows on the table.

All a little too close to home.

I lean back against my own chair, picking up another bottle. Placing the cap at the edge of the table before hitting against it releasing the cap.

“You can keep that one” I smile, allowing his question to sink in and the beer to rush into my bloodstream. Did he recognize himself? Was that the reason behind his intrusiveness. I should take offense. Be insulted. Roll my eyes. Storm off. This was not my place of work, and I was under no obligation to be nice. I did not have to sit here and smile, but I chose to because I couldn’t perceive any malintent.

Maybe it was the way he winced at his own mistake. He was nothing like Marcus, he would have never so openly taken my invitation…but for a moment it was enough for to feel comfort.

“A little lonely, might just be it. Doesn’t happen all that often anymore, but it gets worse at night when there is not much else to think about.” The bottle meets my lips, it’s only a quick sip before I pose my intrusive question. “Where’s your district partner, I’ve only ever noticed the two of you together?” I was not trying to intimidate him. Marcus may have argued otherwise, but I never found myself to be a very intimidating person. Instead I welcomed him to my table, a little oasis in the sea of books.

ELEGANT