ne'er-do-wells and {insufferable} bastards :: aya

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[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: e1e1e1; border: e3e2f2 solid 0px; width: 500px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px;] I'm used to living in comfort. Most kids from Twelve couldn't say the same, but I was born with the right surname to guarantee me a life of always going to bed with a full stomach, of a closet full of new clothes and all sorts of pointless toys and entertainments that I never had any interest in. My home was always on the streets of the Seam, running barefoot with my boys until all those fancy clothes were coal-stained rags and my heart felt free for once. Comfort never held much of an allure for me, but the Capitol's got comfort to spare. I've taken advantage of it more that I probably should have, lounging on the couch in the District Twelve penthouse and flicking through the million channels on the massive TV, munching on delicacies I'd never even heard of before I got here and wondering vaguely if this is how sacrificial lambs feel, fattened up for the slaughter. Either way, I can't bring myself to bother caring, smirking as a report on the Games comes up and I watch another anchor list me off as one of the favorite's for this year's crown. "The others'll be scared of me, right?" I ask no one in particular, munching on some kind of sugary snack cake and sitting up on the couch. "That's gotta be some kinda leg up for me." The stylists aren't really paying attention and Lucy's been avoiding me since we got on the train. I don't like being ignored. Huffing angrily, I hop off the couch and walk over to the table where everyone else is congregated, sitting on the polished wood and relishing everyone's disapproving glares. "What do you think, Uncle Arbor? Intimidation's a factor, right?" don't try to sleep through the end of the world and bury me alive 'cause i won't give up without a fight

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