sweet but psycho { atticus x mauve } train

[k!ah]

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As she is escorted onto the train there is one thought that she couldn't get out of her mind: did she leave water out for her darling mother? Thinking hard she chews on her lip, eyebrows drawn together into a tight frown. She had brought in the pancakes, she knew that with 100% certainty... Oh. Oh no. A sigh escapes her lips, as the realisation washes over her. The fucking water, she had left it on the counter next to the annual photo album she had created of herself and Beth, a traditional gift that never quite got the gratification that Mauve expected.

Oh no, this wasn't good. How would mother come to realise that she was all she needed and that Beth wasn't as perfect as she truely believed her to be if she died from dehydration- oh and most likely starvation, now that Mauve thought about it. Are pancakes rationed carefully enough to survive a few weeks? Gosh she hoped so, though if worst came to worst, Mauve had seen a rat or two lurking in the corner every now and then.

The train door slides open with a gentle hiss, granting her access to board. She slips in, tucking her dirty blonde hair behind her ears. Everything is sleek, ever surface dusted, not one fingerprint on glass. Moving into the main trailer she runs a finger against the pristine window, leaving a streak in its path. She pick a pastry from one of the tables, filling a chute with orange juice. Sipping at the juice she watches the district out the window. Her home a few streets down, the lights are out and only Mauve knew that the basement was inhabited.

She blows a kiss in its direction, staring for a moment longer before she turns away, making her way down a tight corridor. Suddenly a door to her right opens a figure moving quickly, so quickly that they must not have seen Mauve, running into her and sending the towels and other assorted items in their hands tumbling to the ground. Instantly they are bent over, gathering the items, without so much as a word.

Mauves eyes narrow and as they try to move past her, she blocks the way, her lips pulling back into a wicked grin. "Usually when people run into someone they say 'sorry'," she closes the distance between them, enjoying the way the girls eyes seemed too flutter from Mauves to the floor and back again nervously. Still, she says nothing, her mouth opening but no words escaping. "Cat got your tongue?" She purrs, hand darting out it grasps her chin, tightly. "You should apologise-" she pauses, forcing open the girls mouth. There was no tongue, just an empty wet cavity. "Ohhhh, someone has got your tongue."

She squirms under Mauves touch, trying to back away, but Mauve pushes her against the wall, her body flushed against her own, trapping her. The avox whimpers, Mauves smile grows, the whimpers like a caress against her skin, making the hairs raise with anticipation. "Are you going to cry?" She whispers, her lips a ghost against the trembling girls ear. "I like it when they cry." Fingers run up her arm, a touch that appeared featherlight, but was anything but gentle, a show of strength, lethal and disturbing.

[mat]

[googlefont="Megrim:400;"]

Atticus Manor

​​Upon Atticus's request the prior morning, the train appeared to be spotless. The dust that sometimes managed to accumulate underneath the seats in each train car almost always finds a way up and into his nose, and the day after he wakes up in the Capitol sniffling for about three hours until the day finally quickens up. Most visible parts of the train are well-cleaned, for the Capitol's image no doubt, but as the years go on, Atticus's hands have grown more tired from managing three kids back home. His card shuffling skills have grown less and less confident and more and more flimsy. Cards sometimes fly all over the place, and he's left digging for them just so he can keep playing Solitaire.

That's what it has come down to overtime. Faith that he can help these kids, or at least not make them feel horrible about themselves, dims one year after the next. Atticus remembers the day that Reagan and Fitz locked arms in the parade and their mood outfits merged to form wonderful colors. It gave him pride, let him hope a little. But their soon-to-be death deceived him like a straw man deceives a crow, depriving him of that spark of joy and contentment. Fitz and Reagan carried just enough bite in their attitudes to lead him on.

One of the tributes this year, Mauve, carried too much bite upon first glance. Atticus remembers her smile as she approached the stage, holding a strawberry beverage nonchalantly in her hand. She seemed unaffected, he noted, which to him signaled that she could be dangerous or happy, or both, that this happened to her. He drags the queen of spades below the king of hearts and flips over the next card. This could either be great or.. not great.

After three unfruitful attempts at winning a game of Solitaire later, he gets up. They've been on the move for maybe five, ten minutes? No sign of either tribute running through the train exploring, or crying, or complaining, or fighting. Must mean they're getting some rest. It's gonna be a long few days, he thinks, pulling open one door after the next, poking his head in to see if either of them are around. It's eerily quiet, especially for someone he believed to be a big personality like Mauve. They must be around here somewhere, unless they managed to do what Auto and Lars failed to do eight years ago and break free and run off.

The next car over, though, he sees a pair of people through the window, one confronting the other. Words mumble through the thick glass and he can barely decipher them. "Cry? I like it when they cry." Mauve is the one speaking, and she holds one of the avoxes, the sweetest one Atticus knows in the train unit, against the wall. She's hurting them.

Atticus pulls the door dividing them open to see the avox shaking in fear from an encounter they'd probably only heard of happening in the depths of the Capitol. Atticus has heard it surrounding the Hunger Games all too often, though.

"Mauve! Hello!" He hurries over to the pair, awkwardly shuffling his arm between the hunter and her prey. "Let's maybe, uh, let's leave the avoxes alone, alright?" He's hesitant to be any more forceful with his request. "We're trying to, well, you know, get away from the whole torturing thing. It's a little taboo." There's a tremble in his words to make that squirms of the avox slowly moving to the side and behind Atticus. Sixteen years of mentoring and he's still hearing the stories of tributes killing avoxes in their private training sessions with the Game Makers.

If this is the personality he has to help win over the Capitol, he's got a long week ahead. But if he's to help her win the Hunger Games, maybe he can skip the first few chapters on psychological torture!

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TABLE MADE BY GHOSTY

[k!ah]

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It was like holding a struggling rat, squeaking and squirming against iron bars. The hand clutching the girls jaw slips down a little, wrapping around the vulnerable skin of her neck. If Mauve concentrated hard enough she could feel the rapid flutter of the avoxes heart against her palm and it was exhilarating. This girls life was literally in the palm of her hand, all she had to do was squeeze-

Suddenly the carriage door is ripped open, Atticus Manor, district Three's one and only victor steps in. "Mauve! Hello!" He is over enthusiastic, his eyes examining the situation unfolding a moment before he awkwardly tries to place himself between Mauve and the Avox. "Let's maybe, uh, let's leave the avoxes alone, alright?" He speaks with a touch of uncertainty and Mauve cocks her head to the side, her grip loosening on the other girls throat a moment before she lets go fully, studying the man before her carefully, emotionlessly.

He reminded her of her mother, when she used to try and soothe her when she noticed Mauve looking at her sister in a dangerous way. Words softly spoken as though they might spook her, as though she was a wild, untamed beast. Usually Mother would be able to calm the storming water within Mauve. Usually. The one time she slipped up, Beth had suffered, a fatal mistake on her mother's behalf.

"We're trying to, well, you know, get away from the whole torturing thing. It's a little taboo." He's in front of the Avox now, his body shielding hers. Mauve had heard the stories around the district, always closer to reaping time, about the increase in missing and dead avoxes over this festive period. It seemed unoriginal for Mauve to continue on with her torments, even though fun, it seemed that it was kind of expected from those who might be, well, slightly unhinged.

Peering around Atticus, piercing blue eyes staring into fearful round ones. "Looks like you're safe," she purrs, watching as the pathetic scrap of a thing scrambles away, only looking over her shoulder once in a thank you of some sorts to the Victor. After one more moment Mauve turns on Atticus, stalking around him like a predator cornering it's prey. "Your right, killing, torturing and tormenting avoxes is too, for a lack of a better word, mainstream." She comes to a stop before him, lips pulling back into a cold grin, "what about Victor's, though?"

Oooh wasn't that an exciting thought. Victors almost seemed untouchable in many ways, the Capitols pets. It was a forbidden act to strike at a victor, almost in the same way it was frowned upon to use your skills in taxidermy to stuff and preserve your sister. And that process was thrilling, almost as thrilling as the look on her darling mothers face when she presented her with the gift.

Mauve bites her lower lip, looking up at Atticus with curious eyes. She wanted to take a bite of the forbidden fruit.

[mat]

[googlefont="Megrim:400;"]

Atticus Manor

It's a little unorthodox in Atticus's personality to get up close and confrontational, but as the kids grew more and more mischievous, he found himself making his presence known around the house. Looks like that's rubbed off on his Hunger-Games attitude as well. He splits the two apart like he'd split open a green bean at the crease. An awkward tension parts like the water trickling from its inside. His words have an effect on her though, her eyes moving on from one temptation to another. Unlike the avoxes, though, he feels comfortable putting his body on the line in a hostile situation. The avox is expendable; they can be replaced with the slit of the throat and an arbitrary reason to punish another person in the districts. And maybe it would be favorable for Atticus to stand by and help the silent servant into a better place, but he remembers killing all too well and can't be complicit in it again. Even Sol Shim lighting Cecilia Brontz aflame dangles guilt like a knife over his head now and again.

"Looks like you're safe," Mauve says, and Atticus's back slides to the wall of the train in place of the fleeing avox. A breath of relief lets his shoulders feel light for a moment. But the girl's crystal blue eyes continue to toy around him. He senses that she desires control over her environment as her presence leaves the dim sound of the wheels racing the train onward in the room. "You're right, killing, torturing and tormenting avoxes is too, for a lack of a better word, mainstream." Maybe not his first choice, mainstream, although going against the grain by not playing mind games with them is certainly a stance he'll accept from Mauve. Pacifism and peace might be a little bit too much to ask, especially if he's hopeful to get either her or Bellamy in the right mindset to win the Games. After all, not a single victor in the last thirty-something years has won without killing or hurting another person.

She continues towards him. The tension she feeds into the air drags down Atticus's brow.

"What about victors, though?"

His eyes raise in shock that she'd even be willing to suggest such an idea. At first, he huffs it off with a laugh, unbelieving, but her suggestive gaze refuses to give. Torture him? Absolutely fucking not. He's a mentor, not a test subject or plaything.

He selects his words carefully, picking nervously at his fingernails. "That's definitely not mainstream, Mauve, you've got that part down." He begins to slide away from their standoff and towards the nearest door. "Perhaps a social miscue, though." The victors are beloved by the Capitol. Even Atticus, who does his job and goes, has a place in their hearts. Maybe not the government, but certainly the people. Sponsors, and their favor, are just as important as surviving the functionality of the games. Either way, his words remain an excuse to get her to knock it off. He hopes she listens because if she doesn't, her theories may evolve into experimentation.



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TABLE MADE BY GHOSTY

[k!ah]

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His discomforts feeds her, it was like the drug she craved and she breathed it in greedily, gleefully aware that he would prefer to be anywhere but here, stuck in a small space with Mauve Morganstern. He laughs off her words for a moment, as though her threat was nothing but teasing words thrown around in a playful manor. But when he realises that she might just be serious his laughs dies, and her nervously fidget with his nails.

Casually she slips her hands into the pocket of her coat, fingers closing around the handle of the butter knife she had swiped as she moved through the dinning cart. No one had seen her, or if they had, hadn't bothered stopping her. After all why would they? It was an innocent act, slipping silverware into pockets might be seen as some sort of comfort. She was sure that it was not unheard of for tributes to be pick pocketer's. And when you were being sent to die, they let you indulge in the simple things in life.

"That's definitely not mainstream, Mauve, you've got that part down." It seemed like he had had enough, cautiously creating some distance between them as he attempted to make his exit. "Perhaps a social miscue, though." He then makes the mistake of breaking eye contact, reaching for the door handle.

He was dismissing her, and Mauve Morganstern loathed being dismissed. It made her feel like a child, weak and powerless.

Quiet rage simmered beneath the surface of her skin, she rips the knife from her pocket, moving so quickly that Atticus could barely tell what was happening until the silverware pierced the soft skin between the thumb and forefinger, pinning it to the trains wall. Leaning over so that she could whisper in his ear she pushed the knife in deeper, giving it a slight twist. "I wasn't done yet," she hisses, pulling away from him to open the carriage.

Looking back over her shoulder she give him a smile that was twisted and dark. "Isn't it fun to think that soon we might be neighbours," she chuckles slightly, throwing him a wink, "imagine all the fun we will have." Giving him a small wave she slips out of the carriage, an I'll see you around tossed over her shoulder.

With her back turned she could not contain the smile that painted her lips. Her body was dancing on the edge, she had just stabbed a victor, taken a bite of the forbidden fruit, and it was delicious. Her mouth watered at the thought of seconds.