gone tomorrow, here today [love x areto]

[pogue]

C   A   L   L   U   M

L   O   V  E

Well, Areto Pavalis was nothing if not interesting.

He'd nearly chewed through his lip watching her interview from the District Two quarters, all narrowed eyes and furrowed brow and tilted head. She is strong, really fuckin' strong. He'd muttered to Apruva as she stood to his left, fumbling desperately with the chain of the gauntly bracelet that curls up her forearm. But lord, she's as cold as ice up there. It'd perplexed him to the fullest extent, enough to carve a smile onto his face and circle her name in his little journal, his brain pointing out all of the unanswered questions about Areto that he knows she wouldn't have the decency to give him. But it's enough to keep him entertained and focused,


and it's enough for him to approach her the very next morning in the Training Center as she launches knives forwards towards the dummies around her.

"Y'know.." He starts as he saunters into the path of a raised knife. His eyes flick upwards to the blade, admiring the way the lights arc and bend on the surface before they drift back down to Areto's gaze, as if daring her to bring it down towards him. "You'd probably be a bit better off with sponsors if you showed some charisma."

He'd seen Areto's spar with Emerson days prior, had watched their lips move and their eyes connect in either admiration or, at the least, respect. Which meant, by default, she probably fucking hated him. He'd grown to discover that any friend of Emerson Le Roux didn't exactly enjoy his presence, Julian included.

"Love." He says in mock introduction, gaze drifting to the wounded dummies of the range. Red seeps from the knives she's launched into them, pooling to the floor below and cementing her deadliness. "Nice aim."

[tick 12a / calla]

A    R    E    T    O

Basso had given her shit for her interview. He'd stormed onto floor Four waving his hands like a kite caught in a wind storm and Areto had just looked at him, then shared a look with Bubby.

It's not that she doesn't care about the image she's giving out. She does to some extent. She worries about the reputation she's giving the island, but that's it. If she has to be cold to stop the rumours and the interest and the infrastructure, then she will.

She gets up early the next morning, early enough that she's the first tribute down in the training centre. She juggles a handful of knives away from the blades stations and throws them leisurely, watching them hit their marks in a soothing, therapeutic, kind of way.

Needless to say, when the boy from Two suddenly steps into her path, she's less than pleased.

She had no intention of ever speaking to him. The brief flashes of Love that Areto had seen during training had been more than enough. But she can feel her jaw clench and her knuckles whiten the longer he talks. Surely the Gamemakers wouldn't care if it was just twenty-three of them going into the arena? Areto'd be doing them a favour, really.

"Love," She says sweetly, smiling so wide that her face aches. Areto bats her eyelashes and does her best not to throw up on his shoes.

If he wants charisma, she'll give him charisma.

"You're in my way." She says in the same sugary tone, letting the smile drop. She rears back quick and knees Love straight between the legs. She watches him double over in absent distaste and then readjusts the knife in her hand, hurtling it toward the target behind him now that the path's been cleared.

[pogue]

C   A   L   L   U   M

L   O   V  E

Love's gaze is still focused on the dummies behind him when he hears Areto mutter his name, all sweet like sugar and laced with sweet nothings. And that's fair, he can recognize when someone doesn't want him near them and he can't necessarily blame her.

"You're in my way."

"Most people would be grateful for tha-" He begins to say as his gaze shifts from the fatal wounds on the dummies back towards Areto, ready to continue the conversation with the island girl from Four in the same way he'd strung out his dialogue with Emie.

But then curled flesh and bone connects with tender skin, Areto's knee finding its home in his groin with enough force to send his mind into a tailspin.

The words are slapped from Love's lips and the breath is knocked from his lungs, his knees shaking as he stumbles backwards from her before he drops to the ground completely. His eyes widen and the color drains from his cheeks as his brain struggles to process what just happened, every familiar memory of high school locker room and gym class flitting through his mind in one quick wave. 

It's slow, at first, the realization that the most sensitive part of his body has had a knee driven into it at full force. In the delay between the bone connecting to his groin and the pain finally setting in his mind desperately spits forth a few snide remarks that he could launch towards the island girl in front of him.

"A simple "hey" would have been enough."

"Some would just say excuse me."

"If you wanted to play hard to get you could have just ignored me."

But then his brain finally registers what's happened and the pain erupts from his groin into his stomach, a sickening wave of discomfort clawing up into his abdomen as he groans softly. He curls his fingertips into his crotch in a fruitless attempt to sway the waves of exploding nerves that rocket up his form as he nearly keels over, coughing out ragged breaths and squeezing watering eyes shut so tight it's as if they'll never open. 

"You fucking piece of-" There's a string of expletives that slip from his mouth that even the boldest of Capitol programs would need to censor as he's helped to his feet by trainers in white uniforms. "I'm fine. I'm fucking fine-" He shakes off the hands of the duo of male trainers that clasp around his shoulders as he turns away from her, cracked shards of a shattered facade falling to the ground below as he coughs once, twice in an attempt to dissuade the feeling from his groin and his gut. He walks the attack off with stumbling and awkward bounds, muscles tensing and relaxing as the pain subsides too slow for his own pleasure. There's still a lingering sense of discomfort sitting in his stomach when he finally turns back to Areto, maintaining a healthy distance from the girl as he catches his breath. His hands move to cover his crotch from another attack at the simplest of her movements, an embarrassing result of natural instinct.

"Is that how you and your island girls greet every fucking  man?" He spits, venom of a broken facade laced into every word.

[tick 12a / calla]

A    R    E    T    O

The knife hits its mark and Areto finds herself rather pleased.

Love rolls around on the ground like a child while Areto steps over him to retrieve the blades. She takes her time with it, gently pulling the knives from the dummies while listening to the sad joke of Two moan and groan on the ground. She wipes the flat of each blade on her pantleg to get rid of the sticky fake blood, then returns to the throwing point and raises an eyebrow when he flinches.

So much for fearsome careers.

Areto glares at the trainers that help Love when they begin to eye her, puffing out their chests and hands drifting steadily to their sides. She knows she's a threat. She's fine with that. But it's not like she killed Love. He's just a little banged up. Maybe they'll all be lucky and it'll have shaken some kind of sense into him. She almost dares the trainers to do something. It feels like there's fire under her skin.

But she ignores them all for the most part, waiting for Love's little tantrum to be over. He tries to spit poison at her when she doesn't react, like he can force his words alone to cut into her.

"Is that how you and your island girls greet every fucking man?" He says in a boiling kind of way, and Areto forces herself to not be fazed.

“No actually, I found Bellamy to be quite pleasant.”

Something inside her laps at the derision dripping from his tone. It laughs in her mother’s voice and cackles victoriously and says we were right, we were right about them all along.

“I’m sure if you asked nicely,” She adds, “He'd be willing to share his secrets of decency with you.”

Because she doesn’t like the way he hides his meanings behind his words. She doesn't like the way he seems to dance circles around his purpose and steeps himself in deception. The Amazons speak plainly, and when their words do not do them justice, then their actions will. Love confuses her just as much as he aggravates her. He frustrates her just as much as he baffles her.

It's an agonizing combination and Areto swears she can feel a migraine coming on.

"Don't you have someone else to bother?" She asks dismissively, coldly, already readying another knife to throw, "Go scurry back to Julian, maybe he'll lick your wounds for you."