So Far Around The Bend {Stew}

[aya]

I'll run through a thousand parties
I'll run through a million bars
Nobody knows where you are living
Nobody knows where you are

Arbor Halt—

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It was hardly into the tributes' first day in the Arena that Arbor Halt had realized what a grave mistake he'd made in promising himself that he would cut back his drinking this year. Liquor, it had seemed, was the nectar of his living, the one thing that sustained him during his annual stints in the Capitol with tributes in tow. He could hardly imagine how he'd suffered through even his very own Hunger Games without it, let alone the 55th Games that followed. Hell, it was difficult for him to even see how he'd remained partially sober during the 56th that followed, despite how hard he'd been trying to bring Ara's brother back to her. But this year, things had the potential to be a little bit different. His district's tributes somehow had less zeal than those of Twelve's previous, victorious years, for starters; on top of that, there were now not one but two others to watch over them in Arbor's ultimate absence.

He didn't need to trust the other victors of his district, either. He did have a very unusual trust in Aranica, despite everything — it would be impossible not to, considering how he'd known her for four years now, and he did count her among his closest friends. As for Heron, well… the jury was still out on that one. Arbor just didn't know the legless girl very well. Still, trust in the other mentors to take care of their tributes was completely irrelevant; it was awful, but the seasoned victor simply didn't care. He didn't even really know their names. Clearly he'd done a much better job in years past, when he'd actually spoken with the pair that was being sent off to their deaths, but hadn't he already payed his dues? After all, he'd brought two tributes home in the three years following his own victory, which was no small feat.

That's what a lot of the Capitol had been saying, anyhow: Arbor had to be some kind of strategical genius for his District to be doing so well. Signs certainly pointed to it, anyhow; after all, didn't it take an incredible amount of wit to compensate for such a large handicap as blindness? And people had a nasty habit of not giving that wispy twelve-year-old that followed the credit that she was due. On top of that, for a tribute to make it six days after the loss of both legs? Simply unheard of. Naturally, the people needed some sort of common factor to placate themselves, and the only thing they could could come up with was District Twelve. The poor, decrepit coal mining district. Nobody higher than District Eight would root for them within reason (assuming that their own tributes had already been knocked out of the competition) of course, so somebody had thought to find a more specific constant between the three wildly unlikely victories. The only one they'd found? The alleged tactical genius of Arbor Halt.

Arbor himself knew this was absolutely absurd; however, convincing other people of this had proven to be quite difficult — especially considering that he didn't talk to other people if he could avoid it. The victor had been having trouble playing nice for the cameras, just as he had done since he'd stepped onto the stage at his own presentation ceremony. Some — typically those from the higher districts, who'd been groomed to be victors since conception — had the right sort of attitude to make the Capitol like them; others — like Aranica — got by and often were loved, simply based on what sympathy they could acquire (after all, what bleeding-heart Capitolite didn't fall for the little girl that'd won and been forced to mentor her big brother?) and what sympathy the masses were all too willing to come forth with; while others still — and Arbor was a prime example of this — were openly defiant and subtly hostile, forcing whatever pity or popularity that was thrust upon him to dissipate all too quickly. This, of course, was winning him no fans among the Capitolites, and between his antagonistic demeanor and his perceived strategic brilliance, the ex-blind kid would be surprised if he hadn't been the target of a freak accident by the beginning of the 59th Games.

And his drinking habits hadn't in the slightest helped the animosity toward him that he knew those in charge were breeding. Not being a particularly fun-loving guy when sober, Arbor was anything but the sort of lovable drunk that the Capitol tolerated or even adored. While he wasn't exactly destructive or violent, per se, he occasionally did break glasses or go off on the sort of tangent that was not considered appropriate for even the dingiest of Capitol bars. Most of the time, however, he just sulked. This was part of the reason for the new prohibitory rule that he had imposed on himself: no drinking with only strangers.

The problem posed by this — or, perhaps why it was so effective — was that even after four (well, five, if his stint as a tribute counted) long years, Arbor still knew next to nobody here in the Capitol. He wasn't courteous, he wasn't polite, he wasn't friendly or social or any of the things that would allow him to even be acquainted with the others that frequented the building. The two that he was most familiar with, Ara and Heron, were two ex-tributes that he would never make any effort to drink with — he still saw Aranica as his own little charge, and was much too unfamiliar and too uncomfortable with the more recent victor to even consider spending a night out with her. And, truth be told, the two amputee victors from his own district depressed him, which was the precise reason why he spent much of his time in Panem's governing city staring down a bottle or at the bottom of a tumbler.

The apparent lack of solution to his no-friends issue did not stop him from stepping into the elevator to head down to street level, anyhow; he reasoned that there were plenty of other things to do around the training center — or even the city itself — that didn't require liquor in order to provide some satisfaction. Arbor fooled himself into believing this for under half a second, and, jamming the ground floor button with scowl, grumbled inwardly about how vapid he'd need to be to get any enjoyment out of the bizarre trinkets that were on display in shop windows for prices so astronomical that he was certain his victor earnings wouldn't even be enough. There was always the haughty practice of scoffing at the outlandish fashions that paraded themselves by on the backs, feet, heads, and faces (among other locations that Arbor shuddered to name) of the Capitolites, though this had been keeping him occupied for most of his stay up until that point, and he'd grown tired of scoffing at the outrageous creatures that walked by when there was nobody else present to share his sentiments.

By the time he'd actually reached the Training Center's ground floor, however, this predicament resolved itself with the shock of distantly familiar red hair that signified the presence of Topaz Ross. Arbor knew the victor vaguely; he wasn't entirely sure if they'd ever even been properly introduced, but he didn't see any reason why they shouldn't be. More importantly, he needed that drink. Badly. So Arbor reached the decision that since he knew her name, she wasn't technically a stranger, and proceeded to make that declaration out loud: "So I promised myself that I wouldn't drink with strangers these Games — have to cut back a bit, y'know? Trouble is, everyone here's a stranger, to me at least. So I figure you'll do." Having confused himself with the unintentional command that had worked its way into his spiel somewhere between his brain and his mouth, Arbor blinked several times and shook his head, as though to clear his thoughts and start over. Or, at least, redeem himself a bit."Uh…" was his articulate re-opener, followed by a remedial, "if you'd like to, that is."

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[Lulu]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
poison in the juice carafe
we drank until our thirst ran out
oh no we're in some trouble now
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

She'd made a promise. The red-haired victor had been coming off of a full month back home in One when the Reaping had rolled around. It'd been a pretty uninteresting month, especially due to the fact that she typically avoided parties in her district, due to the fact that she simply could not go anywhere without being gawked at as if she were some kind of exotic specimen. As opposed to before her Games, when she was always the life of the party, now her presence made made everyone self-conscious. So she'd actually been glad when the 58th Reaping rolled around, just so she'd have an opportunity to escape from the torturous monotony that was staring at her bedroom wall all day, clutching a sleeping bag tight in her arms. Of course, this feeling of relief was doomed to be ephemeral.

While on the train to the Capitol, Topaz's former stylist, Kaiser - who'd been keeping an annoyingly close watch on her while she was in his city since the end of the 56th - had extracted a promise from her. He reminded her how for much of training week for the 57th, she'd been out partying, ignoring the tributes she was supposed to mentor. More than once, on the mornings she was meant to advise them, she'd been far too hungover from an escapade the previous night to actually give them sound advice. So in short, he was blaming her for the early deaths of Anastasia and York. This was completely uncalled for, and a flurry of indignant swears sent Kaiser's way had escaped Tope's mouth before she remembered that the dark-haired stylist was actually on her side - he was one of the few living souls that understood the bond she'd had with Nash, and had shown it by designing her that black mourning gown for her presentation ceremony. So she'd grudgingly promised him that she wouldn't go out at all for the duration of training week, and even for the rest of the Games after that. Because apparently she 'owed it to the tributes'; Kaiser had even played the 'you killed his brother!' card regarding Allen, much to her irritation. Of course, it was far easier said than done.

She'd slipped up the first night, after the Opening Ceremonies. Watching the newest batch of tributes parade around in carriages was horribly dull, and by the end she knew she was in need of a drink or two. Luckily, so many parties occurred the night of the ceremonies that you could practically knock on the door of any mansion in the city and be welcomed into a pre-Games bash. So, wasted as hell, Topaz had stumbled back into the Training Center at about three in the morning and gone to bed, sleeping straight through the hour she was supposed to coach Soyala and Allen, so that they'd know which training stations to practice at. She was rudely awoken at noon by a livid Kaiser, who stood over her bed with his arms crossed as she moaned about having the worst hangover in the world. He then proceeded to reprimand her for her actions, finishing with "You've got a problem, Topaz, but it's one you can control. So control it." As he left the room, she'd shouted an angry "You're not my father, alright? So fuck off!" after him, just before going to lie on the floor of the shower and let the hot spray wash away the traces of the night before, for so long that Carmel, the District One escort, eventually knocked on the door and nervously asked if she'd drowned.

She didn't have a problem. Her drinking was not a problem, it was a solution. The problem was that there were far too many people trying to control her every move. There were too many fucking people trying to tell her what to do and what to say and how to say it and who to be; that was the only problem she had. The problem was that she'd won the goddamn Hunger Games. But either way, she knew she had to listen to him, or she'd be in for hell later. So like the good little mentor she wasn't, the victor of the 56th Hunger Games stayed sober and coached the two teenagers from her district so that they might possibly have a slim chance at survival. Well, except for Allen, really. She tried to avoid him whenever possible.

Not too long ago, Topaz had decided that since she'd made it out of the arena, she led three separate lives. First was her life back "home" in One, which she loathed for the endless hours spent dwelling upon her troubles that accompanied it. She hated being around her parents, who cared more about her victory than their daughter herself. She hated being around Sapphire - who had once been her closest companion - because she didn't seem to understand that she did not want to talk about Nash. Or be yelled at about Nash, that was more like it; Tope had deduced that even though she never said it, Saph was spiteful of the girl that had changed her sister forever. She hated being around her old friends, because they really weren't friends - they never had been. Besides, she didn't know how to talk to them anymore, and none of them knew how to talk to her.

Next was her life in the Capitol, which was definitely her favorite of the three, even though none of them were that appealing. In the Capitol, amid the parties, drinking, dancing, and the never ending social scene, she could forget. She could escape isolation, because isolation made her think far too much. She could do whatever the hell she wanted, screw what anyone else said. Or at least, she could pretend she was doing what she wanted, while Capitol officials planned a plethora of public appearances for her. Yes, she hated those, but they were tolerable simply because they were routine and easy. She could go out and forget about them later.

Finally, there was the three or so weeks of her life per year that were devoted to the Games, and this was by far the worst. This was when she was forced to advise children hardly younger than her that were headed off to their death, and then somehow accumulate money from rich Capitolites who wanted to sponsor them and figure out crafty ways to deliver them items that they needed. And while she was doing all this, she was forced to stay in the Training Center, a place that brought back unwanted recollections and nightmares much worse than those she faced anywhere else.

On the tributes' first day in the arena, Topaz tried to reassure herself with the fact that in less than two short weeks she could return to her life number two, as the hype of the Games died down. This did nothing to comfort her, though, so as soon as she was dismissed from the mentor viewing station she attempted to find a way to amuse herself. Normally in this situation she would go out, but obviously she had promised Kaiser she wouldn't do that. As the elevator came to a halt on her floor, the disgruntled teenager got out, looked at the door to the rooms that belong to District One, decided they looked awfully unappealing, and climbed back in again. Closing her eyes, she pressed a random floor button and the elevator shot up again, this time opening on floor seven. Well, floor seven wasn't any better, but perhaps she was ready to face floor one now. Back down she headed. Riding the elevator was actually comforting; the movement soothed her head, which was aching from a day of watching tributes die in the Bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Plus watching the ground level through the crystal floor was just as interesting as it had been when she was a tribute herself.

Somehow this led to a new game, called 'press a random floor button, go up, go back to one, and repeat.' She amused herself with this for a good fifteen minutes; if she closed her eyes she could focus only on the rise and fall of the elevator, rather than Soyala and Allen and every other tribute in the Games that was on the brink of his or her death. She was pretty sure she'd visited every floor in the tower, so as she stepped out on the landing on floor one yet again, she decided she was through with her game. She could play more later - right now, she needed some fresh air.

After putting on a jacket, the redhead pushed the elevator button once again, although this time she intended to go down to the ground floor rather than up. The doors took a long time to open, and when they finally did, she was dismayed to see that the elevator wasn't empty; instead, it was occupied by someone Tope wasn't sure she'd ever even had a full conversation with - Arbor Halt, victor of the 54th Games.

There was silence for a moment as the elevator lowered itself; Topaz wasn't about to speak to him, and she wasn't fussed whether or not he decided to speak to her. What could they possibly have to say to each other, anyway? It wasn't like they were about to spend the short elevator ride comparing Hunger Games. So she crossed her arms and said nothing...until he did. "So I promised myself that I wouldn't drink with strangers these Games — have to cut back a bit, y'know? Trouble is, everyone here's a stranger, to me at least. So I figure you'll do."

Tope couldn't help it - she snickered. "Well that was blunt." It took her a moment to realize that he had just invited her to go out drinking. Hell yes, her mind screamed. Yes, yes, yes. She needed it. She needed it so much. Kaiser could go fuck himself. Besides, it wasn't like she was going to drown herself in alcohol; just a few drinks. She'd be back in in a few hours, and Arbor certainly wouldn't tell anyone, right? Well, she didn't know much about him, but odds are he didn't associate with any of the officials that represented her districts. "But yeah, that sounds great." There was a ding as the elevator reached the ground floor, and the victor stepped outside. "I'm not supposed to, so naturally I'm up for it."

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
tried to kick it over
i tried until the juice ran out
oh no we want more trouble now
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

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[aya]

Whatever went away I'll get it over now
I'll get money, I'll get funny again
Walk away now and you're gonna start a war

Arbor Halt—

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Somehow, Arbor was halfway surprised that Topaz had actually accepted his invitation to go out drinking. For whatever reason, he'd slid back into the District Twelve frame of mind that regarded everyone from the upper districts — particularly the Careers — as stuck up and spoiled, even though he'd known from personal experience that this wasn't the case. After all, during his own 54th Hunger Games, hadn't it been Archer, of District Two, that had reached out to him? And Zinnia and Ailia that had accepted him as their ally following the rift in their alliance, despite the fact that he'd never really belonged to them the way he'd belonged to Archer, the tribute that they'd specifically betrayed.

The way the Capitol pitted the districts against one another, it was easy to forget that each district had roughly the same capacity for good as any other. Maybe it was District Twelve that was stuck up for regarding themselves as more genuine, scrupulous people than the districts that received more wealth from the governing city. Perhaps that was why Arbor was slightly stunned that the words following the District One's snicker — at that, he'd expected her to continue laughing and reject his offer outright — were a polite and reasonably enthusiastic "But yeah, that sounds great," to which he replied, "Wonderful."

It was Arbor's turn to snicker as he followed the redhead into the building's lobby, again caught off guard by her excuse for accompanying him: that she wasn't supposed to, so naturally she was up for it. It never occurred to him that the more cooperative victors from higher districts were cooperative because they were expected to be, more so than the others. That they were under stricter control because their district caused the Capitol to demand it of them, because their district's faithfulness and reliability made them much more favorable and they were expected to keep it that way. Maybe they were just as disgusted with the Capitol as Arbor found the vast majority of his district to be, but circumstances prevented them to act out on it.

Whether he was actually serving as a catalyst for a minor rebellion in its own right or merely just being somebody to drink with (though, in all probability, he was the latter) Arbor didn't particularly care at the moment — he'd all but given up on the one-time goal of coaxing Panem into revolt — as Topaz Ross was providing him with an excuse to do exactly as he pleased: go out, have a few drinks, and forget exactly why he was so miserable. He felt as if he'd already made a small amount of headway on the last, at least, enough to fire back, "I'm not going to get in trouble for this, am I? Not going to ruin the reputation of a victor that the Capitol actually likes?"

Arbor smirked a bit as he crossed the building's foyer, pleased with how much more at ease he felt with her than with the victors from his own district. This might've been due to the fact that all of the pressure was off: if he made a complete fool of himself, he'd only need to avoid eye contact (—and wasn't that a drawback to having vision! Arbor rarely missed his blindness in recent years, but still occasionally grumbled to himself about the plights of the sighted world—) for the rare occasions that the two would run into each other during the three weeks out of the year that they were in the same place. Right now, it didn't seem to matter to Arbor that he didn't know what to say, or that he didn't have very much to say at all.

As they reached the street, it suddenly occurred to him that it might be helpful to know where they were headed, although it didn't really matter to him, as long as there was liquor on the other end. Besides, he didn't enjoy navigating through crowds very much, and it would be helpful if he could just follow her. "D'you have somewhere in mind?" he inquired, although after he'd said so he realized that he was probably supposed to be the one with somewhere in mind, considering that he was the one that had invited Topaz along and not the other way around. Not that it mattered one way or the other, of course, seeing as he'd decided that what the other victor thought of him didn't matter at all.

Although, maybe it did matter, if just a little bit. From the few words they'd exchanged, Arbor had decided that Topaz had a positive score in his book: nice enough, somewhat amusing. And she had the potential to be a very useful loophole around the restrictions he'd placed on his drinking habits, if he were to actually continue with them. So he'd be conscious about not making a complete ass of himself, which shouldn't be too difficult, at least. This would be made even easier by the fact that most of the subjects that he probably shouldn't bring up — namely the Games — were things that he didn't particularly want to talk about, either. He knew the general overview of how her Games, anyway; he'd been significantly more sober for those than he had been for the 57th, seeing as he'd been mentoring… oh. Anani Petros.

It was funny how everyone seemed so much different outside of the Arena, once their own Games were over and done with. It hadn't even dawned on Arbor that this was the Career girl — or one of them, at least — that had abandoned Ara's brother to fight the same hellhound that would finish him off a few days later. He spent a few shocked seconds with the realization before deciding that ditching the somewhat abrasive District Twelve boy — that she'd had no obligation to, no less —the way that she'd done was one of the most gentle severances possible where the Hunger Games were concerned. Tribute bonds rarely dissolved without blood.

"Thanks for not killing him outright, by the way," he said, immediately cringing at how stupid he was, breaking the only conversation rule that he'd set for himself before he'd even consumed any alcohol. "Anani, that is, I mean," he clarified. There wasn't a hint of sarcasm in his voice, not a trace of a scowl across his face; Arbor Halt genuinely meant it, no matter how out of place or unusual the thanks were. Even so, he continued to kick himself for saying so; being reminded that you'd murdered people and that the mere fact that you were alive had caused the death of twenty-three others was not the sort of thing that lightened the mood for the bit of care-free drinking that he'd been looking forward to. Stupid.

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[Lulu]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
with your teeth to your lips
and your hair to the ground
well you hear the fish and they're making this sound
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

The lobby was relatively empty as they made their way across it, seeing as most important people hung around the mentor station during the Games, which was located in a part of the Training Center separate from the tribute tower. The only good thing about being in the Training Center was that everyone that roamed around here was accustomed to seeing victors; after all, they served as mentors, so they were even more abundant than tributes were in the tower. Plus they weren't confined to their quarters or the training gym like tributes were; they could do whatever they pleased within the confines of the city, as long as they at least pretended to coach their tributes. So Topaz and Arbor got little more than a few glances from avoxes as they crossed over to the main entrance of the building.

It struck Topaz as a bit odd, the little she knew about the boy who had emerged victorious from his Games only two years before her. Perhaps they'd been introduced once, but she couldn't recall it if they had. Their districts were so separated where the Games were concerned, though, so perhaps it wasn't all that surprising. She really didn't know any of the far-too-large handful of recent District Twelve victors - Aranica and Heron she knew only by sight; she'd never spoken so much as a word to either of them. Well, maybe it was about time she got to know some of the victors that were closer to her age. Arbor seemed like a good first step.

"I'm not going to get in trouble for this, am I? Not going to ruin the reputation of a victor the Capitol actually likes?" Topaz couldn't help it; at this, she snorted. "Oh believe me, you've got nothing to worry about," she insisted, smirking. "This is my reputation. I'm the fun-loving socialite victor, however irritating that may be sometimes." It was exceedingly irritating, yes, but only when she was sober. That was why drinks were such a blessing. "Besides, drowning yourself in alcohol and partying is the Capitol way. They like that I do it, because it makes it seem like I'm just like them." Was she just like them? No, absolutely not. Maybe the old Topaz was, in a way, but most definitely not this Topaz. None of them had been thrown into a massive death trap. None of them had been forced to kill or be killed. And none of them, however much they thought they sympathized with her star-crossed love story, had murdered the one they loved in cold blood. So she was nothing like them, however much she pretended to be.

They reached the main doors and stepped out onto the street; it was a brisk Capitol night, somewhat chilly; that was to be expected, though, considering they were in the mountains. They had barely walked five paces before they caught someone' eye - and another - and another. Passerby were pointing and whispering - look! It was not one, but two victors! This was a rare sighting, and they were very lucky to see it. Topaz rolled her eyes visibly, and turned to respond to Arbor's latest inquiry. "Er..." Did she have a place in mind? Topaz was sure she could pick out a few parties that were occurring, but Arbor didn't seem at all like the party type and to be honest, Tope wasn't in the mood for that. Just a few drinks, at a nearby bar. That was all. Just a chance to muddle her thoughts a bit and kill the ache in her head, even if it was only for a short while. "There's a good bar around the corner, actually. Dunno if you've been there, but I stopped in a few times during the 57th." A few times. Ha. Multiple. Normally alone, sometimes with one of the aging Career district victors whom she'd befriended since her own victory. Of course, it was a bit close to the Training Center; they might be discovered. But ah, well. Who cared?

There was silence initially, as they walked. Topaz normally played the conversation-starter in most situations, simply because she tended to be good at it; in this case, though, she ha absolutely no idea what to say. What did you say to someone who had been through the same kind of thing you'd been through, someone who'd lost just like you had? I'm sorry? No, Tope didn't want any sympathy tonight. She didn't want to hear apologies, didn't want to say them - she just wanted to go out and drink and forget, something she hadn't done in over a week - and almost a whole month before that - thanks to Kaiser. Nevertheless, though, talking was probably a good thing. It turned out she didn't have to worry about that, however, because a second later, Arbor spoke.

"Thanks for not killing him outright, by the way." Killing who? She'd participated in a number of murders during the Games; who was Arbor referring to. "Anani, I mean." Anani. Topaz inwardly rolled her eyes; she hadn't been fond of that kid from twelve, not at all. He had hardly done anything to help their original Career alliance, and besides, he'd had a huge target on his head, as Aranica's brother, and a District Twelve tribute, at that. She'd allied with him because she thought he might get sponsors based on who his kin was, but he hadn't even gotten those. She should've killed him. But she hadn't. "I'm not gonna lie to you," the redhead began, looking at Arbor. "I wanted to." It didn't really matter to her whether or not her current companion had had some kind of connection with the boy, rather than just the usual mentor-to-tribute relationship. It wasn't her problem. Anani had died, anyway, even if it wasn't by her hand.

They reached the bar she'd been talking about within a few minutes; it was a pretty small place, and there weren't that many people in it. Recaps of the Games from that day were playing on a couple of small television screens that hung from the ceiling, but as soon as the bartender saw who had just walked in, he snatched up the remotes and clicked them off hurriedly. Topaz snickered as she took a seat on one of the stools. "Vodka and cranberry, please," she requested, before turning back to Arbor. Though she still couldn't think of anything to say. It was not until the cold, red drink was safely clenched in her hand that she spoke again. "So, I know you know who I am, and I know who you are. But we've never actually been properly introduced, have we?" She took a sip, closing her eyes to relish the all-to-welcome burning sensation in her throat as she swallowed the first sip of the first alcoholic beverage she'd had since the Opening Ceremonies. Opening them again, she raised her eyebrows and rested one elbow on the bar, looking at Arbor. "I'm Topaz Ross, and I won the fifty-sixth Hunger Games." She smiled a sort of half-smirk, and reached out as if to shake hands with him.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
saying, "we just want to go on walking around
and feel what it's like to fall down"
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

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[aya]

Live on coffee and flowers
Try not to worry what the weather will be

Arbor Halt—

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As they continued to talk, Arbor began to regret not making any effort to interact with the other victors. For two people from polar opposite districts who'd probably never spoken, it seemed as though they were getting along quite well. It forced him to consider why exactly he hadn't even attempted to get to know those from other districts. Of course, he wasn't a people-person in the slightest; before his victory, Arbor generally kept to himself, and after, he did his best to retain his status of general isolation, at least while he was in District Twelve, where the people stared. Where friends of his district mate that he'd teamed up with the District Eight boy to strike down still occasionally cursed his name in the streets. Where people stared, worse than they had before Arbor had eyes with which he could stare back.

During the Hunger Games, however, it was different. Easier to avoid the stares and gawks of the vapid Capitolites that he couldn't avoid while en route to the bars he frequented. Other than that, he rarely left the training center at all. Arbor generally followed a very predictable pattern: Wake up, drag self out of bed and to the mentor station. Make sure tributes aren't dead or about to die. Breakfast. Drinks. Lunch. Check on tributes. Nap, or pretend to nap so as to avoid the other representatives and officials from his district. Dinner. Drinks. Stop in to make sure tributes are alright. Drinks. Bed. Repeat. He didn't leave much room for visiting with other people, not that he'd tried to include it in his routine.

It was something of a shame, though, he began to realize; speaking with someone who wasn't part of the District Twelve staff was turning out to be rather amusing. He snickered as Topaz assured him that he didn't need to worry about damaging her reputation. "This is my reputation. I'm the fun-loving socialite victor, however irritating that may be sometimes. Besides, drowning yourself in alcohol and partying is the Capitol way. They like that I do it, because it makes it seem like I'm just like them." That did hold with what Arbor knew of upper district victors; the Capitol preferred those districts because of their similarities to the governing city. It was certainly easier for them to get used to than the odd customs of, say, District Twelve. They didn't need to be civilized. "Funny," he retorted, smirking, "They don't really appreciate it when I do that."

He hadn't necessarily gotten in trouble for 'drowning himself in alcohol,' as Topaz put it, though he had been thrown out of a handful of places. "Although I'm sure you've never hurled a glass at the wall." The funny thing was that Arbor couldn't even remember what compelled him to do so in the first place; he only recalled being escorted back to the tribute tower by two pairs of firm hands, which were more to keep him upright than anything else, and the awful headache he'd woken up with at some point the next afternoon. He wasn't generally destructive like that when inebriated; more often, he was exceedingly quiet, which probably unsettled the generally loud, carefree Capitolites that were trying to retain their levels of drunken euphoria while in his vicinity.

In response to his query, Topaz brought up a place around the corner, one that Arbor had frequented practically since he'd started mentoring, due its close proximity to the training center. He nodded in approval, allowing her to lead the way, just so that he wouldn't have to be the one to push through the crowd. The people around them, however, seemed to stop and gawk a bit more than usual, perhaps because he was with a victor with a great deal more popularity than Arbor himself had. Or maybe they weren't used to seeing victors from such drastically different backgrounds out in public together. Or it was just the fact that there were two of them; victor sightings was something that the Capitol's citizens loved to brag about, and seeing a pair of them would no doubt allow them to feel more important than their friends for a few days.

In the brief silence that had followed, Arbor berated himself for bringing up the Games, for reminding Topaz that she was as much of a murderer as he and the rest of the victors were. But it didn't seem as though the remark bothered her at all; on the contrary, her response was blunt and largely indifferent: "I'm not gonna lie to you, I wanted to." The District Twelve couldn't help himself; he burst out laughing at the remark, even though he was certain that she wasn't joking. He knew that Anani had had a certain grating quality about him; Arbor himself hadn't really even liked the guy, except for the sake of the younger Petros. "Yeah, well, thanks," he repeated, still grinning, "'Cause now I don't have to feel bad about not hating you, for Ara's sake." In fact, from the few exchanges they'd had, Arbor rather liked the District One. As a victor, talking with her was certainly a change of pace from the Twelves, that managed to depress him without saying anything. Dare he say it, he was already starting to enjoy himself, something he hadn't legitimately done in a very long time. Maybe he was wrong to avoid making friends as he'd done.

The remainder of their walk was quite brief; this was fortunate, as he hadn't anticipated the weather being as cool as it was and began to regret not bringing a jacket, though for the few minutes they were outside, he decided that he was alright without one. The establishment was much emptier than Arbor could remember ever seeing it, probably due to this being the first day of the 58th Games. Bloodbath parties, post-Bloodbath parties and the like were more popular than most other Games parties, seeing as Day One always followed the same general timeline; after that, deaths, events, and victories were completely unpredictable, and while a good Capitolite could probably put together a party in a matter of half an hour, usually whatever was happening had already come to pass by then. Topaz sat down and ordered; Arbor followed suit, though stopped himself before he ordered his usual, instead simply asking the barman for the same drink. He was going to have fun tonight, he told himself, and gin didn't provide for that for him.

Swallowing more than he should've on his first sip, Arbor's eyes watered a bit from the burn of the drink as it traveled to his stomach, instantly feeling a bit better despite knowing that it hadn't begun to hit his system yet. Topaz officially introduced herself with a smile that was somewhat smug, offering her hand for him to shake. He did so with much gusto, returning her smirk with one of his own. "Pleasure to meet you, Topaz Ross," he replied, "I'm Arbor Halt, and I won the fifty-fourth Hunger Games. Blind, by the way," he added, grinning. "But seeing is alright, too, I guess." He didn't mean to be nasty, of course, and hoped that it hadn't come across that way. But then, he realized, a Career of all people probably wouldn't take too kindly to their victory being belittled, though that had never been his intention.

Were they really about to talk about the Games, of all things? He certainly didn't mind, he supposed. It might very well be the only thing they had in common, anyhow, and somehow it began to make sense to Arbor that they did. And who better to talk about them with than someone who knew them from the same vantage point that he did? He expected neither pity nor sympathy, like his family or strangers or even Capitolites tried to give him. Just discussion. He shrugged inwardly and took another sip. Didn't matter, really; he'd gotten what he set out for, at least.

[/blockquote][/size]

[Lulu]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
if you break these moth wing feelings
powdering dust on your fingers
we know we're not praying we're kneeling
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Topaz had already deduced that Arbor was as much of a drinker as she was; that much was obvious from how he'd had to make a promise to himself not to drink with strangers these Games. Well, she had to admit, if he'd been sticking with that, he had a fair bit more willpower than she did - she'd had to promise someone else not to drink, and even then she was unable to do it. But the main difference between them was not that she was more of the party drinker, while he seemed like the sit-in-a-bar-all-night sort, but that the Capitol actually liked her. She was likable, whether on purpose or not, while she was pretty sure Arbor and the rest of the recent District Twelve winners (save for Aranica, they liked her because she was little) weren't, really. Because they were so different from the Capitol. Because neither could understand the other.

"And I'm sure you've never hurled a glass at the wall." Had she? To be honest, she probably had, but she wasn't surprised she couldn't remember; all her parties became of haze of drinking and dancing in her memory after they were over. Besides, she wasn't a dangerous sort of drunk, so if she ever had, it hadn't been out of anger, but out of an urge for attention. "Not that I know of, but I'll keep that one in mind," she snickered.

The red-haired victor was surprised that Arbor had asked about Anani, or was even open to talking about the Games at all; most victors would give anything to forget the hell they'd been through. She didn't really mind talking about the first half of her Games, at least. They were harmless; she had just been a typical Career going around with her typical Career alliance that killed typically weaker tributes, along with a handful of irritating Capitol-created muttations. They didn't hurt to talk about, because in all reality, she felt like she was talking about someone else. She didn't feel like that typical Career anymore. It was the second half of the Games that was difficult to think about, for the sole reason that they had been all about a certain District Two girl.

She hadn't expected him to laugh quite as hard as he did at her response to his gratitude, but nevertheless, he did, and it made her snicker a bit as well. "Yeah, well, thanks. Cause now I don't have to feel bad about not hating you, for Ara's sake." Ara. Aranica Petros, a victor Topaz knew next to nothing about. She'd been a carefree District One teenager for the 55th Games, watching the Games and pulling for Dru Charlesburg, willing her to win with every fiber of her being just like everyone else in her district. None of One really thought much about her little charge, the one whose side she never left, because they all assumed Dru would come to her senses and kill her, as a proper Career would. But then the little twelve-year-old had came and shot her up with that blowgun she was so uncharacteristically good with, and bam, she'd taken the crown, just like that. No honor and glory for District One, who deserved it - instead, another victory for an underdog of District Twelve. How the hell had that worked out?

So she hadn't been particularly fond of Ara that year leading up to the 56th, but after she'd won herself, she figured it was really unfair to judge the little girl for everything she'd been through, especially since she'd never even spoken to her. That didn't mean she really wanted to, though; Tope had a feeling that she and the young victor who had passed the torch down to her would not get along very well. They had nothing in common, save for the fact that they'd both came to love someone in that godforsaken arena and then killed her. And really, was that something to bond over? Absolutely not.

Arbor was probably close to her, though. That made sense; since he'd won before her, he had been her mentor. Lucky bastard - his first year mentoring, and he'd brought a tribute home alive. Her first year mentoring, and neither of her tributes had made it past day two. And then he'd brought another back, in the 57th. That certainly said something about his mentoring skills, compared to hers. Perhaps she should've tried to be a better mentor, rather than avoiding one of her tributes because she was two much of a coward to face him after her alliance had killed his twin brother. Perhaps then, District One might pull through with another victor in place of stupid Twelve. Of course, that would mean she'd be obligated to actually care. Which she didn't. "I've never actually met Aranica," she admitted. "Bet she probably hates me though, right? Regardless of the fact that I didn't kill him." Tope knew she'd hate herself, if she were in Ara's position. "Because I won. In his place."

The fact that she was still sober and yet was already enjoying herself was interesting; the teenager couldn't remember the last time that had happened. Normally she wasn't genuinely laughing, rather than faking it, until after three drinks at least, and here she was, snickering as Arbor shook her hand with a ridiculous amount of gusto, not even halfway done with her first yet. And even rarer indeed was the fact that she actually liked Arbor, even though he was the first in a slew of Twelve victors she hadn't initially been fond of. He had a sense of humor that wasn't far off from hers, and he was surprisingly easy to talk to. She grinned and rolled her eyes as he introduced himself, taking another sip of her sweet drink. "Well aren't you something," she replied. "Vision is overrated - I wish I'd won blind like you." She knew that he could see now, though - the Capitol had fixed that up for him. It never ceased to amaze her, everything their doctors could do. After a few days following the conclusion of their Games, victors always looked as good as new - the only damage remained on the inside, and that was incurable, anyway. "Although you can see now, correct?," she added. "How's sight been treating you? Not as badass as blindness, of course, but I'm rather fond of it myself."

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
hard enough just to say you believe them
well how the heck did you think you could beat them
at the same time that you're trying to be them
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

[/color]

[/size][/center] [/justify]

[aya]

Tired
and wired
we ruin too easy

Arbor Halt—

[/color][/i]

Laughing with company was not a familiar experience for the District Twelve victor. He never really had a lot of friends, and few of those had much of a sense of humor. Or, at least, they hadn't had one that matched his own dry wit. Even before he'd won his Hunger Games, he was fairly withdrawn; he'd been more likely to chuckle quietly to himself than laugh at anything that someone else had said. And after, well… it was hard for anyone to find things quite as funny after.

Besides, the company that he kept was not the sort that he felt comfortable joking with, or the sort that would ever joke back. After sharing his house in District Twelve's finally-populated Victor's Village with his family for several years, he'd been left alone at his father's insistence when he'd turned eighteen. Ever since, he'd mostly kept to himself, aside from occasionally walking into town for the sake of walking and checking up on Aranica. Even then, he wasn't much of a conversationalist; with the younger girl, Arbor was generally quiet and fairly serious — solemn, almost — and genuinely doubted that he could ever bring himself to actually joke with her. It just didn't feel right to him.

It surprised him to an extent that Topaz pursued the subject of the younger Petros following Arbor's offhand reference to the youngest victor. She said that she'd never met the girl, which made sense, seeing as to Arbor's knowledge, Ara was no more social than he was where the other districts were concerned. Although he supposed that was fair; after all, he was probably the closest in age to her despite being roughly four years her senior. It occurred to him that he wasn't sure exactly how old Heron was. So much for being an attentive mentor.

He smirked a bit as he answered her question. "Man, you must think you're pretty important, huh?" jibed the District Twelve. "Neither of us have talked with you — well, besides me now, I guess — and you assume that the two of us have already discussed our opinions about you." This was followed by a very slight snort of laughter and a brief pause. Arbor's face softened some, losing the goading edge but retaining a fraction of the smile that had initially been there to tease. "We don't talk about the Games much," he responded, "but I don't think she's capable of hating." He shrugged. "Besides, I think we both knew we couldn't bring another tribute home. Three years in a row is a bit much, don't you think?"

It was. Even three in four years was, which he knew, and he knew that the District One certainly must've thought so, too. Practically all of Panem did; he couldn't see someone from a district that was used to doing much better than his thinking any differently. The good news was — was it good news? — that it didn't seem to Arbor as though either of his tributes would be victorious this year, meaning the balance of power was headed for partial restoration. This did relieve the oldest victor from Twelve, as he didn't want to be held responsible by the Capitol for any complications that arose from his district's repeated successes. It wasn't necessarily a good thing that this meant his tributes would die, but for the sake of the lives of those who'd won, this was for the better. Maybe that was selfish of him, but he wasn't about to become a martyr for the sake of one or two — or a dozen, or however many — kids that he neither knew nor cared about.

Veering away from the predicament caused by the fact that his tributes had a very low mortality rate compared to the other districts' in recent years, Arbor returned his focus first to the drink in his hand — it was nearly gone, so he finished it and nodded at the barman to bring him a second — and back to the District One victor, who was talking about his previous state of blindness. "Well aren't you something. Vision is overrated - I wish I'd won blind like you." He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement, snickering a bit at the mock praise. Maybe there was some legitimacy to the commendation; he couldn't tell and didn't particularly care one way or the other.

"It certainly comes in handy," he agreed. "At least I don't have to revisit the Arena in my sleep, really; I only hear the sounds of it." It was no secret that the victors of the Hunger Games — each and every one of them — were plagued with constant nightmares. Arbor was no exception to this, though he was lucky in the respect that he couldn't recall the faces of his victims or his allies (the two groups overlapped) as their blood covered the snow and his cold knife alike. He couldn't even imagine the scene, and when he tried, it came out completely unreal, like they were someone else's Games, like they were other tributes with other names and another killer. What he could remember, however, were the the curses and dying words of those who bled out all around him, the rhythmic crunching of snow under boots, the shouts, the shrieks, the eerie silences. It was the sounds that Arbor relived night after night, and the lack of accompanying pictures that allowed him to separate distorted memory from reality. But that didn't make sleeping any easier.

He was pulled out of the Fifty-Fourth Games trance by Topaz's inquiry. "Hmm? Oh." He waved the hand that wasn't preoccupied with his drink in front of his face. "It certainly seems like it," he said, looking back at Topaz again. "I'm told that if I couldn't, me looking at you would feel very unsettling." Arbor chuckled, adding an afterthought: "Used to get a kick out of doing that to people." When he was younger and got out more, the Seam kid occasionally amused himself at the expense of the sort of people who were already made uncomfortable by his lack of sight. He'd train his blind eyes on their mouths as they spoke and then did his best to look slightly upward; the effect in their tone was apparent even to those with ears less sensitive than Arbor's had been.

At the next remark, Arbor found himself snickering once more. "How's sight been treating you? Not as badass as blindness, of course, but I'm rather fond of it myself." Badass blindness, indeed. It had take the victor a very long time — practically over a year — to adjust to vision, particularly because he'd been so focused on dragging his heels and refusing to allow the Capitol to show him any kindness. He hadn't asked to see, after all, and he'd been furious that they'd fixed what he'd never truly considered to be broken. This was back when Arbor Halt was a young, spirited boy with rebellious dreams and little taste for alcohol; now, it seemed, he'd matured — or been crushed. But the way he lived as of late was certainly much simpler than trying to fulfill the dying words of one of the girls that he'd killed — "If you make it, take them down" — which had been later reinforced by the last to die at his hand — "Give them hell." It hadn't been fair of either of them to ask, and while Arbor was clever enough, he certainly didn't have the ability to rally a rebellion. Hell, most people didn't even like him.

"Well it certainly isn't bad, I suppose," he started, "though reading's a pain in the ass." Perhaps after four years of seeing, Arbor should've tried a little to figure out how to read, but it really wasn't a useful skill for him. He could do numbers, but if he needed to know what anything said — which was a rare occurrence — he'd simply ask Ara. He'd given up on books years (two) before his own Games, but he stopped himself with another sip of his new drink before he thought about why. Maybe his distaste for reading hindered his intelligence capacity some, it didn't really bother him one way or the other.


"But there certainly are upsides to vision," he continued, shrugging. "Take, for example, that fine specimen over there." He gestured at a man — well, maybe a man — who was pacing back and forth on the street outside, looking at a tattoo on his wrist that must've served as a timekeeping device. He was unusual even by Capitol standards; his skin bore thick yellow and black dyed stripes and seemed to be almost fuzzy — though whether this was a trick of the light on the artificially pigmented skin, Arbor couldn't be certain. The strange 'fashion,' if it could be called that, was complete with antennae sprouting from the top of his curly head of hair and a small set of clearly non-functional wings that poked through his thankfully dark-colored shirt. He sighed and shook his head. "How did I ever live before I could see things like that," he mused, feigning bewilderment.

[/blockquote][/size]

[Lulu]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
just enough just to say you don't mean it
well when everybody's willing to listen
oh satellite, satellite skin
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

It was probably too soon to jump to conclusions - and besides, the alcohol was already beginning to buzz through her veins - but Topaz was growing to believe that she would actually enjoy Arbor's company even if she wasn't under the influence. Lately that wasn't true of anyone; not her family, not people she'd used to consider friends, and most definitely not people who had any affiliation with the Hunger Games in any way. As a victor, Arbor most definitely fell into that category, but the shocking thing was, she didn't mind being around him. He didn't ask her uncomfortable questions like the others did. He didn't seem to have lost all traces of personality, like many of the victors she associated with lately. He still knew how to laugh; most of them didn't. Topaz missed being able to laugh, really laugh, without being tipsy or just plain pretending. It wasn't often that she found people funny anymore, but here she was, actually enjoying herself.

It was true that the prized handful of Hunger Games victors were more similar to each other than anyone else in the whole world, despite how their Games might've differed from each other. Even if they responded to their experiences differently, they still bonded over one major thing that no one else did: winning the deadliest game in existence. In theory, Tope probably should've found them easier to talk to than anyone else - and she did, to an extent. But all of the victors from One had at least five years on her; that was one issue. The more serious one was that since she'd won so recently, they all tiptoed around her as if she would blow any second, completely avoiding Games discussion whatsoever. Topaz didn't mind talking about it, as long as Nash wasn't involved, and she wasn't about to burst into tears if the other girl was brought up, either; she would just pretend it had never been said. She was past crying. Tears were pointless.

So Arbor was like a breath of fresh air, as far as victors were concerned. It was easy to talk to him, and there were very few people she could say that about. It made her wonder if maybe she should trouble herself to get to know a wider variety of champions, because perhaps they weren't all like the ones she'd associated with - maybe some were actually good company, like he was. Of course, she wasn't sure she was prepared to risk that endeavor without a drink in her hand.

She rolled her eyes a bit at Arbor's words, but grinned all the same. "I do have a general tendency to think I'm better than everyone else; you'll have to excuse that," she replied, snickering. "Although with good reason - if I hadn't came along then you Twelves might've taken the crown four years in a row, and the Capitol would be very displeased." She laughed. "No offense, of course; it's just a blind kid, a twelve year old, and a legless chick? What's next, a schizo?" As soon as she said it, Tope's heart all but stopped. A voice rang out in her head, saying the same words over and over. Paranoid schizophrenia. How the hell had she forgotten, for even that split second? She'd been having a good time, and now all the sudden unwelcome memories were flooding back. No. She wouldn't. She would not think about Nash right now. So with every ounce of strength she possessed, she pushed the recollections away, shook her head, and spoke again, this time staring off out the window rather than at Arbor. "Never mind. Forget I said that."

She was determined to have a good time tonight, regardless of the fact that the Games had just started and one of her tributes - thankfully the one whose presence made her uncomfortable - had already gotten his head torn off by a massive Sphinx muttation. And though she had loved the other girl with every ounce of her being, she knew that thinking about her was bad, very bad. She was the reason Topaz didn't feel victorious after she'd won. She was the reason that she woke up in the middle of the night, breathing hard from nightmares. Nash was like a plague, one she couldn't rid herself of. She didn't want to, either - the thought of forgetting about her lost love made her panic more than the idea of living in sorrow for the rest of her life. But all the same, it was essential to forget for little bits at a time, to not let her take over her mind. She had to live, to some extent. So Nash could come back later. Right now, she was enjoying herself.

"It certainly comes in handy. At least I don't have to revisit the arena in my sleep really, I only hear sounds of it." Topaz tried to imagine what that was like, not knowing what the hell around you looked like. Only hearing it, pounding in your ears, day after day even after you got out. Somehow that was worse in her mind, though she supposed that to others, it might be easier. But she liked to see what was going on, always. And if she had gone through her Games without sight...she didn't know how she would've handled it.

As if nothing had happened a few minutes previous, Topaz snickered as Arbor admitted to getting a kick out of freaking people out with his blindness. "Damn, that sounds entertaining," she laughed. "I'd try it one day, except this whole sight thing's holding me back." To her surprise, the redhead found thoughts of Nash leaving her head completely as she joked and laughed with the victor of the 54th. "Though reading's a pain in the ass." Tope had never been much of a reader herself, although that might've been more due to the fact that whenever she had attempted to pick up a book when she was younger, Sapphire wouldn't be able to stop herself from spitting out a detailed summary of everything that happened before Topaz could push her out of her room and shut the door in her face. And after knowing everything that happened, suddenly reading the book didn't sound so appealing anymore.

Her golden eyes followed where Arbor was pointing, and she couldn't help but burst out laughing at the sight of a man who looked like he had been trying to replicate a tracker jacker when he had chosen his signature look. "Oh, I'm jealous," Tope snickered. "Think I could pull that off? Maybe I'll try it after the Games are done. I've always wanted to look like an insect." She burst out laughing again as she watched the bee-man pacing, finishing off her drink and pulling out some more cash to order another. "See, this is why I love the Capitol: you never know if you're in a city or a zoo."

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
you can say what you want you're forgiven
well happy fucking congratulations
well everyone, everyone wins
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

[/color]

[/size][/center] [/justify]

[aya]

While it sings to itself or whatever it does
when it sings to itself of its long lost loves
I'm getting tired
I'm forgetting why

Arbor Halt—

[/color][/i]

Interestingly enough, Arbor felt no more or less relaxed as the alcohol began to hit his system. Despite the significant tolerance to the stuff that he'd built up over the course of the past few years, the District Twelve was always put more at ease his surroundings as he felt the liquor kicking in — the initial buzz was the reason why he did drink; afterwords was much less pretty. The funny thing was that he was already calm, already much less depressed or stressed out than he usually was before he began his night's swim in the tumbler that was always clenched in his fist. It was strange for him to be having a good time already, but perhaps his rule was right for him in a different way than he'd expected. After all, his intent was to keep himself from drinking as much as he had been, but as of that moment it seemed that the result was an improvement in the quality of his time spent at the bar.

It occurred to Arbor that this might be because Topaz's company allowed him to escape the very thoughts that he'd been voicing aloud; for the most part, they spoke of the Games easily — they almost made a mockery of them, the way they'd joked about the generally solemn subject — whereas had Arbor been confined to his own introspection, his laughter would be non-existent and his mood at rock bottom. He'd think too much. Here, he didn't have to; it was much easier to have a laugh and move on from the uncomfortable things. There was no need to dwell on each bit of the Games that Arbor felt particularly difficult to swallow, and he didn't find himself picking at the older memories like scabs until they bled.

It didn't mean that the dark place wasn't there, however. It was just subdued, less apparent. Easier to push away. He was more than content to keep the conversation moving, to pretend that the uncomfortable pieces didn't exist, and it seemed Topaz was perfectly with doing the same. So the mood stayed light. The pair of victors, from Arbor's perspective, were already getting along famously, their banter making them feel more like old friends to the former blind kid. That, and the fact that, as a mentor, he'd been able to watch her Games from a perspective that was both detached and personal — though he hadn't been paying much attention to the end through his liquor haze and time spent comforting a mourning Aranica. That is, when the tributes weren't his own and when he was paying attention, Arbor saw the Games the same way a Capitolite probably did: as a dramatic television program. He didn't get attached, per se, but it still made him feel as though he knew the victor, sort of. Although, the case of Topaz Ross was the only one in which he didn't — the other two that had been crowned champion since Arbor himself had won belonged to his District, so he did know them.

The red-haired victor had actually just pointed this out to Arbor: "If I hadn't came along then you Twelves might've taken the crown four years in a row, and the Capitol would be very displeased." Arbor rolled his eyes even though he knew she was right. He couldn't think of the sort of hell that Panem's governing city would've rained down upon the "underdog district" as it continuously prevailed. Perhaps an 'explosives malfunction' in the metal plates that ringed the cornucopia — or perhaps an 'explosives malfunction' over the twelfth district itself. Topaz assured Arbor that she'd meant no offense, and proceeded to point out the ridiculous succession of District Twelve victors that he knew by heart: Blind, twelve, legless. Arbor, Ara, Heron. Three cripples, each in their own way. Three tributes that should not have won the Hunger Games under any circumstances, whether they belonged to the most impoverished district or the wealthiest.

What surprised him, however, was the rhetorical suggestion that followed: "What's next, a schizo?" Her dark mixture of shock and anguish told Arbor that the other victor's thoughts had turned to the same tribute that his had: the girl from District Two that had abandoned Anani Petros at the same time Topaz had. The older victor couldn't recall anything else about the tribute aside from her hair color (brown,) her professed mental status (which Arbor would've missed altogether if he hadn't overheard a remark made that was very similar to Topaz's comment — that 'all messed up as she was, she'd've won if she'd been from Twelve') and the fact that he, as well as the rest of the nation, watched her grow close to and then be killed by the girl he was seated next to. The vacant, haunted expression that followed confirmed Arbor's suspicions that Topaz had not, in fact, reached a place where she'd be comfortable thinking or speaking — let alone joking — about that District Two girl. "Never mind, she corrected, at a long last. "Forget I said that." Though he knew he didn't completely understand, Arbor was more than happy to oblige.

Even though it seemed his companion was suddenly paying much less attention, he didn't hesitate to quip, "Well, maybe we could've added a deaf girl to our ranks if you hadn't won." He knew that even without Topaz's participation, Twelve's female representative would've died on the first day, but it was still almost amusing to think about. Amusing in a sickening sort of way. At this point, Arbor almost found it to be a waste of energy to be sickened by the Games; he constantly flip-flopped between vehement disapproval and a cloud of apathy that was nigh unshakable. He was supposed to detest them, to rebel against them, but it was just so much work and so much heartache that it wasn't worth the effort, especially since there was no hope of tangible results. It was for this reason that Arbor resigned himself to not caring the vast majority of the time.

It was for this reason that the bee man who was pacing outside the bar was such a welcome distraction. For all the anguish the Capitol meant for Arbor, there was an equal amount of distraction; if he allowed himself to get caught up in them, the ridiculous antics of the citizens here — coupled with a generous amount of alcohol — were almost enough of a counterweight to make up for it. Why he'd made such a big effort to remove himself from the frivolous entertainment — or entertaining frivolity, anyhow — was beyond him at this point. He was at the point where everything started to seem a little bit funnier, and found himself chuckling along as Topaz stated her jealousy.

Her comment that followed — "Think I could pull that off? Maybe I'll try it after the Games are done. I've always wanted to look like an insect." — turned his snicker into an outright guffaw. Arbor managed to collect himself briefly, but was still chortling as he announced, a little too loudly "Oh, god no!" He broke out into laughter again and needed to pause once more before continuing, this time in a somewhat more acceptable volume: "That yellow would totally clash with your hair." His laughter slowly died away, though the foolish grin still remained. Arbor glanced back at the bee-man for a brief moment of contemplation before returning to face his companion, a pseudo-serious look on his face. In a dramatic whisper, he told her urgently, "I think you should do it," though his voice cracked and gave way to more laughter at the end. The thought of this friend version of Topaz dressed in the ridiculous bee-man garb was one thing; however, somehow Arbor's imagination did not pin the outfit on her, but instead on the sword-wielding, bloodied, newly-victorious Fifty-Sixth Hunger Games Topaz, which in turn caused Arbor to giggle for several moments over the thought of each tribute dressed up as some sort of muttation or animal. This wasn't helped by her observation that the Capitol was either a city or a zoo, but it was difficult to determine which, as this gave his mental arena filled with animal-tributes a backdrop of the City Circle.

"Is there a zoo here?" he asked suddenly, unsure of where the curiosity had arisen from. "They gotta do something for fun the other…" he trailed off, searching for a number, but it never occured to him that twelve minus one was the equation he needed to solve — "…the other months, right? Can't see what's for fun here if you're not laughing at the people!" This, of course, was probably not the best way of summarizing his one sober hobby of people-watching — which was, naturally, an experience whose entertainment factor was augmented by alcohol — but Arbor neither cared to nor could manage a more polite description of the very thing he and his new friend were doing.

[/blockquote][/size]

[Lulu]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
if you break these moth wing feelings
butterfly knives in the ceiling
well everyone, everyone's waiting
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Still snickering, Topaz finished off her...what number was she on now? Drink three? Four? She'd lost count. It didn't matter, anyway – the fact that she had a significant amount of alcohol in her system after so long was all that was important. God, this was so much better than a few sips of wine at dinner under the disapproving, watchful eye of Kaiser, while Carmel babbled away as if she actually thought everyone was paying attention.

Actually, the red-haired victor couldn't ever remember enjoying a dinner in the Training Center, alcohol or none. However much anyone tried to lighten the mood with smalltalk, (and she herself never tried, it required far too much unnecessary effort) there was always a heavy silence over the dinner table. It was admittedly a whole lot worse when the tributes were around; when they weren't, Tope, Kaiser, the male's stylist whom she never really associated with much, and Carmel could stop pretending to be the supportive, caring officials they were supposed to be, skirting around the subject of death. Instead, there was always bickering, mostly between Tope and her former stylist, who took it upon himself to assess her mentoring skill and had decided it was sub-par. So she got snapped at, and in return, he got cursed at, and Carmel always tried unsuccessfully to be the mediator. That was how meals went on the first floor of the Training Center.

That was only one of the many reasons why being a victor wasn't anything like Topaz had expected before going into the arena for her Games. The fame sucked, the money was useless, considering she'd had plenty anyway, and her annual duties as a mentor were worse than gouging her eyes out with a bottle cap. She was sure she wasn't the only victor disappointed with life; hell, Arbor probably felt something similar, too. But the thing was, she didn't know where or what she'd rather be. She didn't miss being the vapid, shallow District One teenager she had used to be. She didn't really want to be dead, either, though she considered it sometimes. The only place she wanted to be was with Nash, with her in life, rather than death, like she had been for that one glorious week of hell...but that was out of the question, which really fucking sucked.

The alcohol wouldn't allow her to brood for too long, though; in fact, she was starting to feel pretty giddy. The buzz in her veins was stronger now, and she was enjoying the company immensely. She had all but forgotten her accidental mention of schizophrenia when Arbor spoke again, steering far away from the subject of Nash. “Well, maybe we could've added a deaf girl to our ranks if you hadn't won.” Topaz couldn't help but burst out laughing. “Oh, I don't know about that – that girl was mental,” she recalled, remembering watching the massive amount of death and destruction Ocean Jones had caused on the very first day in the arena on the recap video, while Topaz and her alliance had been busy massacring unsuspecting tributes at the Cornucopia. She'd swiftly been killed that very same day by another girl who was almost as crazy as her, but had definitely made her mark in the 56th Games. “I suppose I should be grateful, though,” Tope added, laughing more. “She got rid of a fair bit of competition, made my job a whole lot easier.”

Watching her Games on a massive screen in the middle of the City Circle had been an incredibly different experience than watching it as it occurred with her own eyes. For a lot of it, Topaz actually felt like her old self again, a content Career watching the Games on her television at home with avid interest and excitement. It didn't feel like she'd actually known the people on the screen before they died – most of them she really hadn't known, had only seen, never spoken to. The only time she'd been at risk of losing her composure was when her intimate moments with Nash were televised. She could almost feel the District Two girl in her arms, feel her hand in hers, feel her soft lips pressed against her own as they kissed intensely. And then watching herself kill her...she'd sat stock still in her throne, avoiding the gaze of all the eyes that were trained on her. She'd been too preoccupied to even pay much attention to her final fight against Takeba; the only part of that that had made any impact was the morbid locket tune playing in the background as flames and smoke encircled the area; that melody had remained ingrained in her mind for a long time after.

Topaz indignantly took another sip of her drink – why was she still thinking about the Games? About Nash? Clearly she wasn't getting drunk fast enough; to remedy this, the victor took yet another sip, savoring the taste of the sweet concoction as she swallowed. It was so good she had to take another. And another. Then a gulp. God, she'd missed this. Arbor's declaration that the yellow of the bee-man's stripes would totally clash with her hair set her off again, and the laughter of the two victors filled the room, prompting the few people that were still in the bar to stare at them incredulously. Topaz couldn't care less, though, and she was sure Arbor felt the same – it was so rare that she was able to legitimately laugh with someone, and she was going to take advantage of it.

“I think you should do it.” Suddenly he was whispering loudly in her ear and she gave another bark of loud laughter, somehow managing to knock over her half-filled glass, which only made her snicker harder. The bartender shot her an irritated look, and she rolled her eyes. “Oh, don't give me that,” she said rather loudly, getting more looks from the other bargoers. “It's only half a glass! Look, give me a dishrag and I'll clean it up.” The eighteen-year-old snatched up the rag sitting on the other side of the counter and mopped up her spilled vodka. “And you can go get me another drink.”

“Is there a zoo here? They gotta do something fun for the other months, right? Can't see what's for fun here if you're not laughing at people!” Was there a zoo in the Capitol? If there was, Topaz had never been to it. Most of her time in the city was spent attending parties at various different mansions and getting so hammered she couldn't stand up straight, rather than gawking at animals in cages. “Not sure,” she admitted, as the bartender placed a drink identical to her others on the counter in front of her. ”Though I wouldn't be surprised if they've got one for all their muttations. Personally I'd love to go see those hellhounds again. Or maybe the giant killer horses that nearly bashed my head in.” Her hands closed around her glass and she took another sip, remembering the various beasts she had faced during her Games.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
detachments get praised and completed
you can say what you want and not mean it
when no one really seems to be waiting
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

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[aya]

Stay out super late
picking apples, making pies
put a little something in our lemonade
and take it with us

Arbor Halt—

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All of his typically hard-edged features reflected the legitimate, relaxed enjoyment that Arbor was actually feeling for once in the entire five Games seasons he'd known. Slouched over a bit more than usual, the bulk of his none-too-considerable weight leaning on the counter for support, the victor of the 54th Games could feel himself actually smiling at nothing in particular. True, it probably had a great deal to do with the alcohol in his system — it couldn't be five drinks, could it? — but that didn't stop the action from being peculiar; he wasn't ever that sort of drunk. No, when Arbor Halt was slumped over onto a bar top, he muttered curses that nobody could hear, he spat names that (fortunately) no one would recognize as their own, stewing and stewing and growing more desperately hopeless by the minute until he reached oblivion.

But that wasn't the case here; that wasn't the Arbor who was here. In fact, such a giddy, exuberant version of the Seam kid hadn't made an appearance in well over half a decade. Such high spirits certainly did have good timing; after all, he was quite certain that he'd secured himself a go-to drinking buddy for future Games — and Ripred knew that he'd need one. Even having a handful of nights as enjoyable as this was turning out to be would do wonder to improve his mood about the Games. On the surface, it would seem as if there couldn't be anything done to make Arbor feel worse about them, but every time he'd think too much and drink too much at the same time, his despair would grow to almost crushing levels. Every physical manifestation of the atrocities of the Games — his little charge, halfway grown now but still and forever missing an arm; her eventual successor, completely without legs; their district's tributes torn to shreds along with the rest of the nation's, year after year — sent him into his downward spiral. The one he always envisioned alcohol rescuing him from right up until the point where he managed to drink himself to rock bottom.

The Games didn't do that to him this time, though. The Games and the liquor had brought him a new friend. How long had it even been since he'd had decent company his own age? Arbor couldn't even remember. Back in Twelve, he mostly kept to himself, mostly stayed inside the borders of the Victor's Village if he could help it. Very little of the attention he received was ever positive — he'd even been mugged one time; his district was poor enough where the danger of attacking someone who'd recently outlasted twenty-three others in a fight to the death was far outweighed by the small handful of coins retrieved from his pockets. That was the last time he'd ventured out of his house without a small knife in his pocket, though he'd never needed to use it for self-defense since.

Everyone in Twelve seemed to be a bit off, sure. It was an unavoidable effect of the district's crippling poverty. In reality, many of the tributes from Twelve that had preceded Arbor were nearly as messed up as its recent victors; it was merely the fact that they'd won that caused the rest of the nation to pay them any mind at all. Some, of course were crazy, even by his district's standards — the deaf girl from the 56th that Topaz correctly identified as mental. He raised his eyebrows in general consent, which turned into a full snicker as she noted that Ocean Jones made winning easer with her large number of kills. "What," he teased, "did you really need the help? I'm sure you coulda taken all… what, four of them? Probably at the same time, too, I bet, huh?"

A sober Arbor probably wouldn't've made the jest, knowing full well that only two human kills actually belonged to the redhead seated next to him. But in the alcoholic fuzz that clouded his head, it was all too easy to slide into the assumption that every victor had done as much damage as he had; in reality, the more recent ones had much fewer than the blind kid's own six. A quarter of the playing field. Of course, at the same time, a sober Halt would've recognized that sometimes more than capable opponents — like Topaz, for example — ended up with a much lower body count than people they could easily take in a one-on-one fight — his little charge came to mind. Half the Games were luck; some tributes ended up running into the Capitol's mutant animals more than their intended opponents, while others had their kills lined up like dominoes.

Eyes returning to the bee man with a snicker, it occurred to him hat the governing city certainly had some strange fixation with wildlife — or laboratory life, depending on how you looked at it. To Arbor's knowledge, fauna was good for food in the districts, and that was about it. It was meat — rare and even unheard of in the poorer parts of District Twelve, from which Arbor hailed — which was food, which was something to be celebrated for existing at all. But here? Many of the Capitolites — Gamemakers included — seemed to have some strange fixation on all beasts, whether they were man-made or otherwise.

He was drawn from his thoughts by the other victor's unceremonious spilling of her drink. The sudden flood of vodka into the area where he'd been resting the majority of his body weight startled Arbor, who responded several moments late with an uncoordinated flail — nearly knocking himself out of his barstool — accompanied by a howl of laughter. This melded into a howl of pain as the bit he'd been trying to swallow shot out of his nose, which triggered another intense fit of chuckling despite the fact that it burned his nostrils horribly on the way out. Regardless, his curiosity about Capitol animals and zoos and the like was instantly quelled by the small scene; the other victor's response to his inquiry fell on deaf — or at least preoccupied — ears.

As he regained his composure while the other victor soaked up the spill, he vaguely registered the barman's annoyance at the duo. Certainly they weren't the calmest of customers, but the feeling of irritation was reciprocated by Arbor, who, with his impaired critical thinking skills, reasoned that the man should be grateful for their patronage. They'd probably spent half a fortune each on drinks — not that the 54th victor could even recall which number he was on, let alone how much they'd cost him — and it wasn't as if victors were a dime a dozen. Arbor knew that their presence would be good for the bar's business, and was put off by the simple resentment that he took for animosity. His District Twelve roots never allowed him to expect to be treated like royalty, of course, but after x amount of drinks, it was easy for Arbor to switch gears to his occasional drunken hostility.

"Hey," he half slurred, half spat. "Hey you. Hey buddy." Drink still in his hand, Arbor jabbed an accusatory finger at the bartender. "Hey. We're paying, man. Don't need to be so…" In lieu of a vocabulary word, he made a grotesque face, trying to capture the perceived hatred he'd managed to convince himself that the man had for him. "'m a customer," he muttered, mulling it over before standing it up and announcing it as though it was the greatest revelation to grace the soil of Panem. "I'm a customer!"

For some reason the hush that fell over the building wasn't enough of a cue to settle down for Arbor. "So I'm right! An' you're fired!" With that, he dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a handful of coins. He hurled these over the counter, pelting the bartender that he'd just attempted to fire and shattering several of the bottles behind the man. A brief second of realization came over him, and it occurred that it might be beneficial to bolt as soon as possible. So with a backwards glance at the other victor, Arbor hurriedly stumbled out of the establishment. Once outside, he started to laugh so hard at the sheer ridiculousness of what he'd just done that tears were practically streaming down his cheeks.

[/blockquote][/size]

[Lulu]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
when she was just a girl
she expected the world
but it flew away from her reach
so she ran away in her sleep
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

When she was alone, Topaz often couldn't help but think about her Games. On more sentimental occasions, she thought about Nash - the way she looked, the way she felt, her skin, her hair, her lips, being together, Nash, Nash, Nash. For a few months after coming out of the arena, thoughts of the other girl used to send her over the edge. If she was in public, she would clench her fists tightly, trying to will them away. In private, though, she would give in to the tears that threatened to spill over, allowing herself to cry silently. This didn't last long, though, as Topaz wasn't a crier. Not at all. Eventually, she became able to think about Nash without sobbing. And now? Two years later, and Topaz Ross couldn't even remember the last time she'd cried over Nash Harvey. Of course, that didn't mean she didn't miss her like hell.

On regular days, though, she would think about other things. The Bloodbath, in which her alliance had caused serious destruction. Fighting the mutts as a group the first few days, before deciding that walking around with so many other tributes seemed to only be causing trouble and taking off. Fighting the boy from Eight and the girl from Six. Fighting the horse-mutts. Fighting Takeba. So much damage had been inflicted by her hand, and yet out of everyone she'd attacked while in the arena, she had only personally killed two. Both former allies. It wasn't as if she'd proved herself to be the competent Career she should be, going around slashing at tributes and hiding behind her allies as they took the brunt of the damage. She hadn't exactly been an astounding player, or at least, she probably hadn't lived up to standards. Only two kills, after all, and only on the two final days of the Games. Because of this, Arbor's comment about being able to take on four tributes simultaneously and single-handedly initially rubbed her the wrong way; tipsy Topaz saw it as a jibe at her competency, perhaps making fun of her for her measly number of kills. This mentality vanished quickly, however, as she decided it had simply been a joke. So she laughed, rather loudly.

"Oh, without a doubt," she agreed, slurring her words a bit. "And not only that, but I could do it with my eyes closed." Following this declaration, she smirked smugly and took another swig of vodka. "If you think you're the only victor who can kick some ass without sight, Arbor Halt, then you're sadly mistaken!" Her voice rose as she spoke, much louder than normal talking volume, earning her another irritated stare from the bartender. The redhead opened her mouth to snap at him again, but before she could, she hiccuped, loudly and obnoxiously. This had her in stitches immediately, and she was forced to bury her face her arm on the bar counter in order to stifle the laughter and hiccups that continued on for a solid two minutes.

Had she been sober, Topaz probably would have remembered why she preferred parties over drinking in bars. At parties, everyone came to have fun; pretty much every guest present at the ones she frequented got totally wasted and completely let loose. It was to be expected, and it was something she liked doing, seeing as her drunken behavior never seem to attract more than the usual attention -everyone was acting the same way. Bars, however, weren't necessarily for fun; oftentimes the most religious of bargoers were brooding souls, drinking and wallowing in their sorrows all at the same time. They weren't generally fun-seekers of any kind; this was a logical explanation as to why the bartender was so annoyed by the gaffawing pair of victors. And Tope had had quite enough brooding, thank you very much! Parties were more of an escape. Although, she had to admit, Arbor was making tonight a lot more entertaining than bargained for.

At first, the eighteen-year-old stared wide-eyed at the other victor as he started yelling at the bartender. But as soon as he declared him 'fired', Topaz burst out into loud, incessant laughter that she couldn't stop, nor would she if she could. She followed after him as he slammed coins down on the counter and stumbled out the door, tripping over her own feet as she did and cackling with laughter all the while. Once outside, she peered back into the bar at the bartender who was currently yelling at them to get the hell away from his place or he'd call the Peacekeepers. In between snickers, she called out a, "See you later, bastard!" in a fake, heavy Capitol accent, adding in a little wave before stumbling off after Arbor.

"Let's hurry back before they catch us!" Topaz grabbed Arbor's wrist and yanked him back in the direction of the training center, moving at a very brisk pace, still nursing a bad case of the giggles. She didn't stop until they were through the double glass doors that led into the building, coming to a halt and attempting to catch her breath, exhilarated by the drink and the run and the chilly night air. "That was great!" she slurred, steadying herself by grabbing onto Arbor's shoulder. She couldn't help but stare around at the place with disdain, though; she didn't want to be back here! That meant the night would be over, the first night in a long time in which she'd sincerely enjoyed herself in good company. It couldn't end! There had to be something else they could do! She didn't know if she'd be able to bear going back up to her rooms, which brought back so many awful memories that could easily kill a good mood. And that's when she caught sight of the elevator.

All the vodka she'd consumed made the memory hazy, but Tope could recall the little game she'd invented earlier with enough clarity to remember that it had been fun. She should show it to Arbor! It would definitely be entertaining. They could ride up and down and down and up and up and up and down without a care in the world, and enjoy themselves while they were at it. As if she'd suddenly come up with the greatest idea of the century, Topaz dragged Arbor over to the elevator and jabbed on the call button about ten times, ignoring the incredulous stares of the Avoxes. "We're gonna play a game!" she said as it arrived, pulling him inside, pounding on the button for the highest floor - twelve - another ten times. "It's fun! I promise," she insisted, as the crystal-floored elevator shot up and up and up at top speed.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
life goes on
it gets so heavy
the wheel breaks the butterfly
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

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