show your losing hand [ cabin fever ]

[pogue]

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Love's mind is caught in between two worlds, clashing and pulling apart at the seams as he sits on top of the stool in the corner, the soft lighting of the room scattering and bouncing against the loose sweats and shirt he wears. In one half his eyes follow the movements and ride along the waves, Emie's pacing form contrasting against the relatively dull motion of Julian's lounging body sat against the couch. If there were a camera on them Love would have been sure to be next to him, pulling glass reflections into their form to hold the facade. Fortunately for both of them, though, nothing in this room was much worth watching.

It's why he'd snuck a headphone into his ear around minute three of useless conversation, thumb pressing softly on the play button until a click had echoed out and the drumline came in, contrasting against the harsh voices of two legacies in front of him. 

"Hey Loverboy." Emerson finally calls, venom on her tongue. "Maybe pay attention while we're talking."

He laughs, softly, gently tugging the headphone from his ear and letting it fall to his lap. The music keeps playing, a harsh chorus to the ocean of serious stares he's supposed to be drowning in. "Yes, my liege." He mutters with a smirk, head instinctively still nodding along with the rhythm that spills from his lap.

"The Sevens are up to their old tricks together, this time with company. Lower districts are banding together, and some scattered duos are starting to pop up." He states plainly, tilting his head and letting his gaze drift briefly to Julian before back to Emerson.

"So, got a plan Emie?"

[alex 🐺]

With yet another loud sigh, barely disugising her emotions that were always like a tinderbox whenever she had to be around him Emerson stares daggers at the ceiling rather than at Love, tossing a pool ball to herself that she had found in one of the rec rooms. It was the 8 ball, and no doubt people were probably missing it, but whatever. Lions couldn’t be concerned with the whims of lambs, or however the fucking quote went. Harper would know it, parroting it back for Mom and preening the entire time.

She’s pacing. Again. Surely stressing Julian the fuck out, but again, whatever. Love was sitting in the corner, his eyes following their argument as it stretched into the fifth round. Emerson and Julian were going back and forth like a goddamn tennis match, counting off all of the tributes in their head with made up scores for their looks, their skills from everything innocuous like how they handled plants and who they had spoken with at meals to the deadlier attributes like sword play and still, they couldn’t decide who they wanted as their fourth.

Emerson wanted a girl, for obvious reasons, but it seemed like all they were doing was going round and round and round and Love looked like he had checked out ages ago because she swears that she can hear—

"Hey Loverboy." Emerson calls over to him, venom on her tongue. She nearly whistles to get his attention because he had one headphone dangling from his ear and she was this close to stringing him up by the wire. "Maybe pay attention while we're talking."

Love looks nonplussed, taking the headphone out of his ear with a slow sort of grace, eyes moving from Julian to Emie, in a sort of control your woman kind of way that was ridiculously misogynistic and so not warranted because Julian said he had him under control.

"Yes, my liege." He replies, the sarcasm hitting her in the face like a splash of acid. "The Sevens are up to their old tricks together, this time with company. Lower districts are banding together, and some scattered duos are starting to pop up. So, got a plan Emie?"

Yes, in fact, she did have a plan. Tossing the ball up to her elbow and hitting it to her palm, she stops in front of both of them, palming the ball.

“The girl from Four could be useful. She has this whole warrior ethos that doesn’t seem to jive too well with that of the other Careers. She’s got skills, that’s for damn sure, but there’s this vibe about her like—like we were all told that we have to use our bodies as weapons, bred for the Games even. But she was anointed in fighting and death with a sort of religious zealotry that you just can’t fake. Betrayal for her and her people seems like a cardinal sin, which could work in our favor.”

And she was hot as hell, especially when she dropped Emie to the rubber practice mats, her elbow on Emerson’s throat and her breath warm on Emie’s lips. But she really really shouldn't be thinking about that right now. 

"But I'm sure you have something better up your sleeve, don't you, Love?"

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

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“What have you been listening to? Eternal cries of the Damned?” Julian’s hand reached for Love’s earphone, but it froze mere inches away from it sheepishly when Emerson snarled. One day into their alliance, and the two men in it were already useless—typical of them.

Julian cleared his throat, summoning back a modicum of his grace as he fell back against his seat and stretched his long legs, crossing them at the ankles. He ran a hand through his smooth locks. What are our strategies? His thoughts were overflowing with it. From a young age, Julian fostered a talent at coming up with schemes and inventions, at devising plans and making ends meet. Battle strategy was his favorite class during his career training. He loved breaking apart the puzzle of each fight, then reassembling it altogether as he asked himself, who was at the frontlines to stand vanguard, and who was at the back, bow and arrow ready?

“Save your lieges, Bellisario,” he snorts amusedly at Love, and then rises up onto his feet to take his place in their war council. “Areto despises me. It’s very surprising, because I seem to enthrall everyone I meet, but I shall not lose sleep over it any moment soon. But she is, as you’ve said, a warrior through and through, so mark her as a concern in all your heads.” Julian had seen the way Areto handled her blades. It whispered of grace and knowledge, enough knowledge to handle the blade cleanly into a beating heart. A concern, indeed.

And so, who was left? “Mauve,” he said, his eyes flicking down her profile in the book spread open before them, “a hard no on all accounts. We already have the sociopath slot filled in our alliance.” He took a quick glimpse of Love at his side. Now that they were behind closed doors and the pretense lowered, he wanted to see if he could find the true Love. Who was the boy underneath all the marble and the diamonds?

No one good, that was or certain.

Julian’s focus should not linger on that too, not in this moment. Back to the pressing matter at hand. “Everyone is a wild card. We could pick up the Izar and boast our legacies, or we could play protectors around her district partner, Six. There’s another sibling, Thread Gabel, too.”

“I'm sure you have something better up your sleeve, don't you, Love?” said Emerson, another snarl underlying each word. Julian looked up at him from the faces and names of tributes before them. “Well?” he prompted with an arch of a brow. “How do you propose that we sell this, Bellisario? We can’t kiss every single moment.”

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

It was an accident, really.

Waverly hadn't meant to eavesdrop. The opportunity simply fell into her lap, and she wasn't one to turn down a free gift.

Maybe it really wasn't that much of an accident, but a habit. Closed doors and echoing voices in her house normally meant danger and something inside of her would never let her pass a closed door before at least making sure everyone is safe first. When her parents door was closed it was normally accompanied by shouting, breaking glass, and crying. No matter how hard she tried to pull away she couldn't. She just needed to hear her mother's voice, just once.

Just to make sure she was still alive.

So this closed door in the training center was like a magnet. It was calling her name, and she was looking before she even knew what she was searching for. All she had really wanted was somewhere quiet to unwind and maybe catch her breath, but the voices echoed too loudly for her to ignore.

At first it seemed harmless, but then she realized they were discussing other tributes. They were discussing strategy. The information could be valuable, but if she was caught she probably live long enough to even use it. Waverly had always been one for risks though, so she stepped closer to the door. She began taking mental notes, things to keep in mind when the gong rang. She was so caught up in the valuable information that it took her much too long to realize who the mysterious voices were behind the closed doors.

The careers.

She had to get out of there and fast. A second longer and she could be caught.

A second longer could cost her her life.

[pogue]

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"It's rock, I think." Love corrects his fling as Julian looks away and back to his cousin. He drops his voice to a whisper as he continues, "Eternal cries of the damned are saved for the Bloodbath, y'know?" 

He'd noticed it in-between heartbeats and drifting gazes, trying to both ignore Emerson's desperate little jabs and trying to stop himself from sneaking a headphone back into his ears as Emerson launches into a fucking love letter over the girl from Four, Areto. He'd seen the way she'd looked into the eyes of the mysterious amazon woman from the ocean district, as if she'd wanted nothing more than to collapse into the waves with her. It would have made him gag if he hadn't pasted the same facial expression on his face the day prior in the pool with Julian. He reasons, in one way or another, that means he's just as deadly and just as dangerous as Areto, even though he does less to hide it.

"But I'm sure you have something better up your sleeve, right Love?" 

Emerson's tone is calculated venom as she spits the words to him like a frightened snake and he would have rolled his eyes, would have shifted his form and flipped her the bird if he had even been making eye contact with the two of his fellow careers. He would have done all of the above and more if his eyes weren't locked on the small crack between the bottom of the door and the floor.

The light twists and bends, faltering in on itself as a shadow stretches itself thin underneath, bleeding out into the carpet in a wave of shadowy tendrils. Love doesn't reply to Emie, instead lacing his sarcasm into a single fingertip that points to the fact that he's wearing a muscle shirt instead of a tee, no sleeves to hide in, you dumb piece of- he begins to think to himself before Julian speaks again.

Love's eyes narrow as the boy continues, launching into a list of potential allies to round out their deadly little threesome. "Yeah, you're right. I think Emie is fucking crazy too." He redirects a flying insult away from himself, attention still diverted. He tilts his head as the words of his lovely little prince fall to the back of his mind, brows furrowing as the shadow under the door comes to a rest.

They were being listened to.

"You wish you could kiss me every single moment." He responds to Julian in mock sarcasm. But there's no grin laced on his face, even as Emerson begins to gag in disgust. Instead he stares down the two lions with wounded pride with a deadly seriousness that he'd be willing to bet neither of them had seen from him before, raising a finger to his lips before jamming his thumb towards the door and rising from his seat. 

"The Izar could be the move, honestly." He pretends as he walks towards the door, footsteps completely silent. "Been a while since we've heard that name in the Games, right?" His hand reaches towards the handle, fangs bared.

"But it still might carry some-"

He doesn't finish the sentence before he swings open the door and reveals the leaning form and all of its open ears. She shrieks, or at least begins to, because Love cuts her off by wrapping his fist in her hair and pulling her into the room and onto the floor behind him. He slams the door closed behind him as he turns, quickly recognizing the form in front of him from their interactions the day prior. 

His eyes move to Julian and Emerson, a grin on his face.

"Looks like Waverly from Eight wants to die first this Games!"

[alex 🐺]

"Areto despises me. It’s very surprising, because I seem to enthrall everyone I meet, but I shall not lose sleep over it any moment soon. But she is, as you’ve said, a warrior through and through, so mark her as a concern in all your heads.” Ha, Emerson laughs, resuming her pacing.

“She really does. She hates Love even more though,” she confirms, almost to herself. A smile comes to her lips, unbidden because Areto had made her displeasure of Julian and Love far more evident than anything else during her conversation with Emerson. If by conversation, she meant thinly-veiled threats lobbed by both parties that ended in Areto stalking away, rendering the lioness speechless and her mouth dry.

It wasn’t very often that she was rendered mute, especially by a girl, but Areto seemed to delight in taking her by surprise again and again.

She ignores what Jules says about the other tributes, barely registering that he had marked Mauve as a threat because that girl was no doubt clinically insane with narcissistic personality disorder and a severe case of bloodlust. When Julian and Loathe start to talk about trading saliva, Emerson can’t help but gag behind her hand as she runs the other hand through her hair, placing the pool ball on the table and crossing her arms over her chest.

Lame had a list of all of the tributes, Emie was sure of it, and he clearly wasn’t being as forthcoming as he could be. Which meant that while he was willing to enter into a faux relationship with one Le Roux, trading secrets to keep them all on the same level wasn’t in the cards. Fine, if the asshole wanted to play it that way.

"Yeah, you're right. I think Emie is fucking crazy too."

Emerson wants to throw the pool ball at Love and nearly does, saying “He meant you, genius,” until Bloat puts his index finger to his lips, motioning to the door.

It’s only then that she sees it, the light that isn’t quite a full strip at the base of the door. Tat and Rora had done this trick more times than Emie could count until they'd master the art of stealth. Nodding to Julian, Emie takes a step forward, tucking a lock of hair behind her ears. Love pulls open the door and the girl falls comically, but he catches her by the hair and tosses her into the room with far too much ease and with a zeal that made Emie’s skin crawl. The word danger flashes through her mind but it’s definitely not directed towards her. It’s all for the girl.

"Looks like Waverly from Eight wants to die first this Games!"

“Give the girl some room to breathe, Glove,” Emie says, stepping towards Waverly and crouching down in front of her, her smile almost as saccharine sweet as Love’s and just as lethal.

“What did you hear?