Never Bitter and All Delicious // [Wander/Glamour]

[Gamemaker Lauren Kinkade]

Always told you not to love me
Now look what you made me do
I got poison in my pocket,
told you I was bad news

There was one truly glaring flaw in his design of the Vault: nowhere for a Gamemaker to lurk and surprised the tributes. If he came through the only exit into the surgery center, he passed by whomever was convalescing. If he went directly to the perch, he was basically a beacon in the sky. He'd gotten the jump on Carter Laws; he smacked his lips at the memory. But not all tributes arrived at such a convenient time for his very busy schedule.

Wander Sibley arrived at practically the worst time, right in the middle of one of Vepar's experiments. Glamour hadn't even bothered to attempt contact. Instead, he'd ordered a fresh bottle of champagne and watched the events of the day unfold. The gas triggered in the middle of the second act, which while not exactly planned had a very Games-esque randomness to it. He hoped someone else appreciated that.

After all was said and done with the starvation event, and the helium gas sucked out of the Vault, the lights dimmed, indicating that it was time to sleep. They'd mostly kept the tributes on a regular sundown/sunrise schedule, but the lights dimmed later tonight than the last few. Would they know? If he didn't possess a watch, he wouldn't have had any sense of time either. Yet another way in which his life was more like theirs than his own.

He wrapped his jacquard smoking jacket tightly around his waist and then waved the Peacekeepers forward. An avox with the face of a past tribute trailed slightly behind them. The little clique of them intercepted Wander between the surgery center and the cots. Up close, it was easy to see that time in the arena had changed Wander forever. For the better? For worse?

Vows he needed to make.

Glamour cleared his throat. "Tuna, right?" He waved the avox forward. She presented ver with an elaborate, gold-leafed bento box. In each smaller box, tuna had been prepared: sashimi, spicy tuna rolls, fatty tuna tartare, and even a scoop of tuna salad for good measure. "It's yours if you want it. So tell me: what did you think of my ocean?"

My demeanor made you wait,
but the consequences stayed
I killed everything we were
Baby, murder was a case

song: 27 hours

[WT]

Two weeks ago, knowing that Leon cared about him was enough for Wander to give Glamour Kinkade, if not quite the benefit of the doubt, a measure of personal curiosity. Now, watching him stroll through the curtain around a medical center built to bring people back from the brink he pushed them to, flanked by guards and looking for all the world as though he stepped out of a magazine, it only makes ver think ve needs to reevaluate Leon.

It would be an exaggeration to call verself busy—pacing is neither all-consuming nor, as the medical staff keep informing ver, medically advisable—but Wander still quirks vis mouth to one side for a beat when Kinkade steps into vis path. Surely the man has something better to do with his time. Conversation with people who aren't Gamemakers aside, watching leaves rustle on the viewing screen would be a better use of Wander's, and Kinkade can leave the room.

It's probably, Wander considers as ve blinks down at the display of tuna dishes, a District Four thing. All the glitz and scorn of the Capitol couldn't convince Wander to do anything but love vis home more, but damn, ve wouldn't mind if it didn't come bundled with Kinkade's attention.

"It's yours if you want it."

And ve does. No matter the source, turning food away after nearly a week on one clumsily cooked fish and whatever the doctors put in the IV that morning physically hurts. But Wander thinks of the too-rich District Center lounge food, and stories of shipwreck survivors eating until they die, and the pummeled little plastic package ve never quite got desperate enough to open, and suddenly the only thing that sounds worse than going hungry is eating.

It might be satisfying to vomit on Kinkade's shoes, though.

(If anyone kept that roll, and stays in the Arena long enough to brave the smeared centers and mysterious green bits, Wander hopes it doesn't make them sick. They have enough problems.)

Ve offers the stranger holding the box a lopsided smile dragged out of the same place ve found that last one for Eve—no need to be rude; they probably don't want this interaction to be happening any more than Wander does—before looking back up at Kinkade. "'M'not really a sushi person, thanks."

"So tell me: what did you think of my ocean?"

Wander tilts vis head a fraction, scanning Kinkade's face with as neutral an expression as ve can muster. Honestly, Leon must see something in this man, but face to face, hell if Wander can find it. "Felt real enough. You got the wind right. Beach could've been cozier." If Wander lives another seventy years and dies in vis sleep, ve'll go to vis deathbed with that too-smooth silt between vis fingertips. "But that kinda goes for the rest of it, too."


Thundy called me out on projecting my own distaste for avocado but listen I don't actually know whether Wander dislikes it, ve just doesn't recognize it. (Wander voice: Sushi is just, like, you put some raw fish on some rice and you're done, right? I Am From District Four, I Know These Things [blatantly does not know these things].)