See How Deep the Bullet Lies? // [Lex/Mace]

[d10f ekta ram // [earthling]]

It doesn't hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
You, it's you and me.

Despite the many hours he's dedicated to pondering the ghost in his life, Mace hasn't come up with a proper plan for what to do when he sees her. Probably that should have been the first thing done. Instead, he'd tried to remember the exact cast of Alexander's face in the sun reflecting off snow, tried to recall the exact cadence of her words - other than the clips that got played ad nauseum. But it all looked and sounded a little muted, as though his mind could only replay videos of her, instead of recalling the living, breathing person he'd known.

So he didn't have a plan when the elevator opened to the main Training Center floor, and there she was.

Mace was dressed for the evening, being whisked off to another Capitolite party, this one ostensibly for Kirito Miristioma and Julian Bryze. Given the latter, his styling team had spared no expense. He wore a deep maroon suit that slimmed his figure considerably, and an iron crown atop his still thick, dark hair. He'd even allowed a bit of makeup to hide the bags under his eyes and the crows feet at the corners of his eyes and lips. He looked like a victor. He even, for once, felt like one.

Especially now. He waved his companions on, even as he spoke her name, "Lex," he said,
Lionel dying on his lips.

He stepped aside the flow of people going up and down the Training Center, his grey gaze never wavering from her. "I wanted to uhm, I guess introduce myself. I'm Mace, from District Ten." He stuck out a meaty paw. "I feel I ought'a apologize to you. Seems like it might be - it could be - because of me you're here."

And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,
Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
If I only could, oh


running up that hill
-placebo-

[dars]

d10f ekta ram // [earthling]

[gm bourgeois decadence [aya]]

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i just took a dna test
turns out:
i'm a hundred percent That Bitch
even when i'm crying crazy

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Covered in sawdust after a day well spent carving and shaping the wood pieces she's designed for her private training display, Lexandriy Lionel is in a state to earn a scolding from Jacquelyn for, quote, 'tracking that dirt into the suite again, young lady!'

As if this time Lex might do anything else but scowl or laugh in her face. This, as it turns out, varies with Lex's level of hunger. Lex had swiped some nuts and berries from someone's Introduction to Edible Plants walkthrough earlier, so this evening is bound to be more relaxed.

Or, at least, it was bound to be more relaxed before Victor Emberstatt stepped out of the elevator to single her out by name.

"Lex."

Off-guard, she whirls, sawdust snowing on the both of them. Flakes of maplewood coat the vicinity: the floor, her shoes, Victor Emberstatt's fancy suit.

She doesn't know much about the man standing in front of her. He won before she was born, his icy arena filled with flash-frozen flora. Were those Games the reruns her pop would dash across the room to switch off whenever they came on? Or was that Arbor Halt's year? The only clip committed to her memory was a frame of the solid river giving way —

Victor Emberstatt has started to introduce himself — Mace, he insists — and Lex locks her shock-blue eyes on his steely ones, clawing her way out of the frozen creek in her mind on the stable distraction of his voice.

Not that what he was saying sounds particularly stable.

"Seems like it might be - it could be - because of me you're here."

He offers her continued eye contact and a sweaty mitt, which she takes, squeezes, shakes firmly.

"Sure," she retorts with an exaggerated nod. "A Victor so old his crown could drink wine, from a district I've never even been to. It's so obvious, I can't believe I didn't see it before."

Lex grins, shit-eating. She doesn't know the man in front of her — she's only humoring him because he is a mentor, he has tributes and one of them might well be the death of her. He might have a hand in that.

But Lexandriy Lionel doesn't have that one cog in her brain that's supposed to tell her not to mouth off in the face of death.

"Next thing you'll tell me I'm the only reason you even won in the first place." She chuckles to herself. "That sounds just as plausible. And as sane."

She sighs. "Alright, fine you've got my attention. What do you actually want from me?"

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