mdma | {rian/hayden}

[dars]

H A Y D E N ;

He was the cog in a perfect assembly line of machines. His armor was chipped at and his hands still shook when he thought himself a killer. He was not meant to be this person. He was not meant to be in this family. But he had spent a lifetime of painting over his rough edges and hoping no one brought any attention to his certain misplacement by fate. So far, it had worked well enough to keep him a recognized member of the family, and that was good enough for him.

Peggy stood next to him, tossing axe after axe into a wall of targets. She smirked in his direction with each thundering pop of a blade sticking in its warranted space. Usually, he would have replied by throwing one of his knives at a target and smirking back. Before long, the two would have been throwing at a rapid-fire pace until one of them made a bad shot and the other was crowned victorious.

(Usually, Peggy won when she had her axes.)

"Not today." He hissed, turning his attention back on the unfinished fishing net in front of him. If Hayden was anything, he was smart. It was unfortunate how many people those days thought being a career just meant knowing how to swing a sword. Even after some of them were reaped and died of hunger, or thirst, or absolute stupidity, people watched on and said "I don't understand! His technique with a spear was flawless!"

If Hayden was going to be reaped now, so shortly after his cousin had won the gold, he was going to have to he as close to perfect as possible. No way in hell would the Capitol accept yet another Fray victor exactly a year from the last time they got one. Especially when this one would be defective. So he had started paying more and more attention to the stations that essentially went untouched, except for by Pyrite Shore when she came around with Kellan. (Now she would have been a fabulous victor.) Kellan would have as well. The rest of them seemed kind of hopeless, in his opinion, except Peggy.

He sat in the floor, tying a sea of tiny knots into the thin fabric and he had to admit, those days, his work was pretty god damn impressive. He was almost ready to call it a day when a pair of feet stepped onto the net and pointed in his direction, awaiting a response. He didn't have to look up to know who the feet belonged to. Rian Fray had spent a lifetime walking all over her family, after all.

"Can I help you with something or are you just trying to piss me off?" He grunted, finally looking up and meeting her gaze. Her skin was pale and looked like she hadn't slept and her hair, as always, was a bit ratty, but Hayden had always gotten the sense that she did that on purpose. As if she liked looking like she hadn't bathed in a while. It was tragic. When they were younger and she would beat him in climbing challenges and beat Rose in foot races, she looked happy. Now, to be honest, "Not to be rude, but you look like you're on drugs."

Chances were she was on drugs. She lived a wild enough life that he would have believed it. He couldn't ever do that to himself. It was too dangerous and too stupid, and even when he tried he ended up backing out at the last second and he hated looking like a coward.

"Dude, seriously, are you on drugs?"