when you hate me so // silk & lore

[Deleted]

l o r r a i n e

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I wear my best stolen clothes and- damn, I really haven't grown any, huh? You can take the girl out of the dressing room with panties in her bra, but you can't take the panties out of her bra. Anyways, there's this bitch, Silk Le Roux, and if there's anything I can say about myself, it's that I hate her. Specifically, just rich people. In a green way, because I know if I was a Le Roux I would fit right in with her -- I'm wearing Salazar's closet. Tube top and clip on interview jewelry, fitted shorts for a woman with larger thighs than I. 

Flattered, truly. The more I act the part, the more I feel like I'm a victor, that I could be and can be and will be and I stare Silk Le Roux down for three days of this god forsaken training week and it's the one thing motivating me to actually figure things out. To hold a knife and plan my defenses, I told myself I'd find a life style where I'd never have to lift a finger.

God was I wrong. 

But she hangs around her cluster. Silk and her careers, Ridley and Opal and that stylist pops in before I can get her alone. The last time she was, I had my hands full of district twelve and couldn't run off fast enough - I want to kill her early. That's the headspace, right? That's how she feels about me, if she's threatened by me, god I sound so ugly. I'm admitting it now: Silk Le Roux is the most terrifying girl in this arena. 

So that's the point, right? We're escorted from our rooms two at a time, bunched at the cafeteria and I don't mean to ditch Kane but I have to. In the middle of it all, I catch her alone in the main lobby, potted plants like bamboo lines and I try to picture a forest arena. How it would feel, how scared I should or shouldn't be, "hey, bitch," I've spent three days with Syren and those two dumb boys, with Syd and Kane, and Shelby. 

They're all waiting to die, collecting dust in the free seconds and I know I don't have to worry about them. They aren't the killers here, "it's hard to catch you alone. For some reason, I thought you'd be too proud for a career pact." But hey, it worked for Ridley. One out of two isn't half bad, I'm pulling my hair back out of my face to get a better look at her. 

I wonder what she'll look like by the end of this, if she'll still be half as pretty. 

Hope not, but that's just the petty talking. 

[lance]

There's elements of the Capitol that are stifling, the same old same old metaphorical yellow tape that you're so used to smiling politely and allowing yourself to be restrained by. Whether it's Ridley or Sampson the stylist tailing you, whether it's that absolutely intriguing Turner Grey from Four or the cousin of some long dead finalist from a couple of decades and a bit ago, it's hard to get some alone time.

But there are no rules here, not when murder will be on the table in a week and a half's time. And once you tire of the charade, you excuse yourself early from mealtime, take to walking down the hallway of the main lobby, half out of genuine curiosity, half out of a genuine desire to remove yourself from the chaos and just take some time to think.

Ripred, just because you're the heir to some famous family, everyone seems to expect that you're some extrovert who can't get enough of social interaction, as if you couldn't bear to survive without another warm body nearby to take up the space.

"Hey bitch."

Though, at the rate things are going, you might just have to adapt to that very persona yourself.

You turn to find a girl, not someone you recognize at first glance, walking up to you. Instantly, you analyze - lower district, unremarkable at first glance, oh right a volunteer that's interesting, grooms well, expensive tastes - before remembering your manners.

She speaks evenly, cleverly disguised barbs disguised as small talk, and instantly you find yourself intrigued. Sure, there are elements of politics you find droll - repeated pageantry, using your family name as clout when you have a perfectly good first one that does the job just as well, and so on - but this is something you've lacked ever since you'd stepped foot aboard that train.

This isn't your regular old politics - this is politics disguised as gossip. And you can do gossip just fine.

"Career pact?" you repeat, almost incredulously, before chuckling in response. "Nah, girl, have you seen my peers this time around?" And it's shocking just how truthful this line of dialogue is - but isn't there always a dash of truth mixed in with the juiciest rumors? "My district partner's more interested in the indulgences this building offers than the Games themselves, the Twos are too busy fighting amongst themselves to worry about defending their crown, the Four girl's too wrapped up in some sob story she's concocting for the audience, and her district partner, while admittedly intriguing, is one personal offense away from becoming a straight up sociopath." You look the girl - was she the one from Eight? Lorraine or something like that? - up and down, noting the ill fit of parts of her outfit, before continuing. "So yeah, you've pegged me, alright. No Career pact for District One this time around."

Your gaze settles on her face as she pushes her hair over one shoulder, before a smirk crosses your own. "Besides," you say, expression and voice alike almost turning sly. "Why limit myself to Careers based on some long-forgotten blood pact when there are so many other interesting figures that catch my eye instead?"