a dare with a twist { bellamy x mauve }

[k!ah]

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Bellamy Scott was an interesting fella. He moved around the train with a notebook in hand, scribbling away as he carefully observed his surroundings. He had peeked Mauves interest, and for his sake, that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Atticus Manor had found that out, and Mauve was sure he would not forget her anytime soon. The first thing about him that had piqued her interest was when he had volunteered for the Nixon kid, it was almost as if he was volunteering to be in the casket that she rode home with in a few weeks time.

Maybe she could turn him into her next project, a handsome fella for her darling sister. He was Beth's type, curious eyes and sharp lines.

She followed him into the dinning carriage, picking up a few olives. She pushes one into her mouth, leaning against the door frame as Bellamy exams something carefully. He doesn't pay much attention to her, his gaze flicking in her direction every now and then. He had barely spoken a word to her, and she couldn't quite help wondering had Atticus got to him first? Warning him to be careful around her, scared that she might snap and break something that could not be fixed.

Growing impatient by his lack of attention she throws an olive at him, watching as it looped high before knocking him on the forehead. It was a chilli garlic olive, and she was disappointed that she missed his eye. An chilli olive to the forehead does not burn the same way one to the eye might have. She tosses another one at him, aiming for his ear, only for it to land uselessly on his shoulder, leaving an oily useless wound as evidence.

"Whats the deal with the notepad?"

[Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]]

A detective is only as good as his observation skills. The capability to be able to take in a room and fully see every piece of dust accustomed to a space with a careful unique eye to tell where everything had once been. Bellamy Scott's eyes were honed over years and years of fear, built up by a determination to find the person who put bullet wounds into the only family he had left. Taking in the train where dead kids reside, memories of tear streaked skin and silent boys and girls who desperately cling to life with those cold dead hands. Notebook in hand, Bellamy Scott can take down the pieces of the room in his own mind, fingers shaping the pages into the details he's noticed already.

Spotlessly clean, dust shoved away from the center to the windows, imprints of fingertips from a past tribute or two stuck to the windowsill as they roll past Three's landscape. Mauve's eyes following him with a chill across the space where comfortable and uncomfortable reside. Blue eyes cutting through his skin much sharper than a knife, trying to cut away at the skin over his bones. Following him around with the look of interest, something sinister bubbling under the surface, notes being taken about her demeanor. Olives picked over with no care, eyes following him around the dining cart as he's marking away at the paper in his hands. Delicacies surrounding him with his stomach growling, but he's watching her with a careful gaze that comes every few seconds.

The moment the olive hits his forehead is when he writes down the word he's been thinking of to describe Mauve from Three. Unnerving. Her gaze seems to rip through him as if she were judging him from just a glance. A way to torture the soul of a being, suggest they're not worth the time, but Bellamy could read the impatience of an olive attack on him. Ignoring the ammunition is all he needs to do to learn more about his supposed partner in the cold gates of the capitol. Disappointment is the most telling emotion of all. Another olive lands on his shoulder, oily stained smothering to remind him that Mauve is disappointed to not have caused anger or was it sadness? He couldn't tell.

"What's the deal with the notepad?"

Writing down his findings, he peers up from behind the paper's persistence to remind him to learn more. Lucas had given it to him ages ago for a birthday long passed, but he still writes down the things he finds. Points to be studied over and pulled apart, pen tapping against his lips as he looks up to Mauve now, unafraid of her and those eyes that judge what's underneath the skin. "Observations. Mostly about things I find interesting." A shrug of his shoulders as he closes the notepad, looking at Mauve trying to pull past the unnerving gaze and the olives thrown his way.

"What's the deal with the olives?"

[k!ah]

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His answer is vague, shrugging as he flicks the notebook closed. Mauve wondered what had been interesting enough to captivate his attention for the better part of an hour. She wondered if her name was scribbled in dark ink, and what words might be used to describe her. Beautiful would have to be one of them, because you would have to be blind to deny her beauty. With her stunningly blue eyes emphasised by skin kissed by the sun, her thick dark hair and slim body she was gorgeous, even if there was something about her that seemed a little out of place.

"What's the deal with the olives?"

She mirrors his actions, shrugging as she peeled herself from the doorway moving deeper into the room. "I like olives. I was bored. You were a pretty target." She pushes another olive into her mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully as she plopped down onto one of the velvet armchairs, tossing her legs over the arm.

Lazily she wipes the oil residue onto the chair, picking at her nails, wiping away a drop of blood, Atticus's. "Have you meet Atticus yet?" The question seemed innocent, a question that would be expected from one tribute to another. But Mauve needed to know how much Atticus might have told him about her. She had left him pinned to the doorway not long ago, but certainly long enough for him to seek out Bellamy and warn him about her slight slip in behaviour. She wondered if he was going to report it to the peacekeepers, though she doubted they would do much, she was already on death row and it was unlikely she would escape her sentence.

Though not impossible.

[Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]]

Pretty.

The word feels weird coming from his district partner's lips. Unnerving eyes staring at him, pulling layer after layer of his skin off. A feeling of tension in his own body, burning around him as he stays planted in his spot, stuffing the notepad into the back pocket of his nice pair of jeans. Watching Mauve, he can see the way she leans into the seat before her, legs hanging over the arm of the chair as if she were a ferocious predator lazing about. Being called pretty had set his whole posture off, relaxing his shoulders and unknowingly gnawing at the side of his cheek. Mauve took up a room with a certain control almost immediately, eyes following a person and removing the layers of them slowly.

In a way, he's impressed with how just Mauve's presence makes him feel as if he were the one being hunted, but watching her pop an olive in her mouth stops him from the feeling. Her finger picks at a nail, something akin to a nervous tick, but the drop of blood is what catches his eyes. Unnerving was the word to describe Mauve. Hitting the nail on the head felt like an achievement, but Bellamy wasn't proud of that. Not when he's being watched with those eyes that make him feel exposed. "Have you meet Atticus yet?" No. He hasn't even seen the victor. Shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders is all he can give as he stares at Mauve, wondering if there's more to her than she's showing, but he's not going to find out now. Testing his theory could work, but he needed to stay on Mauve's good side for now.

"No. Seems like he might be avoiding us." A small smile as he leans back against a seat, letting the arm hold him up. "A shame too. Would have loved to pick his brain apart." Observation is what made him different from others. Bellamy Scott could notice a messy room and remember every detail about the objects inside and where they were placed, but in these train cars, he felt as if something had already been moved and he's missing it. He didn't quite know what, but Atticus didn't seem to be the type to miss meeting his tributes. A theory had already formed in his head, but he wasn't going to say it out loud for Mauve. No, a good detective tests and interrogates their culprits.

And Bellamy was a damn good detective if he had a say.

"That's besides the point though. How about we get to know one another?" A small smile pulls on his lips as he stares Mauve's unnerving eyes with his own critical ones. "I've got a fun idea that I'm sure you'll love." Bellamy was staring a predator in the face, giving Mauve an easy bait to see. "Back at home, we used to do this to every new kid. A game of dare." A glint of a teasing smirk pulling on his lips as he pushes even more. "Unless you're afraid of course."