ari beaurevoir;

Best friends with the whole fucking Tower. The concept was laughable -- did make her laugh, a sparkling, effervescent sound. It seemed even Ariadne could not decide which way to interpret her own words -- a joke, a barb, a dare. "So a bit of everything, then?" Her hand lingered behind, on the doorknob, slipping away only as she stepped forward. Cress had only gotten up for a cup of coffee -- or two, considering she hadn't woken up alone. The journey from bed to the kitchen was not usually so perilous, so loaded a feat.

Ariadne paused and reconsidered, picking up the train of thought. Good fucking question. "I am confronting you," she spelled it out, the sort of venomous tone that usually got followed by a 'duh'.

The voice startled her, coming too quickly, too early in the morning. Shutting the bedroom door, turning, pressing back against it -- Cress tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she appraised Ariadne. Warmly, half-asleep, but still amused. "What happened to 'you are what you are'?" After all, hadn't Ariadne told her the night prior that there was no use in pretending otherwise, in feigning banality or shrinking small? "Is this an accusation, an observation, or an inquiry?"

The misread amused her, all bitter at the corners of her mouth as she huffed a laughter discreetly. "You can't know everybody like they're your people. You can't be best friends with the whole fucking Tower." A friend to all is a friend to none, she warned herself, building a full spiral to go into over some cliché lines she's known since kindergarten. "You're thirsty to get intimate with everybody. I've seen you talk to these people. It's like they're all, in stupid turns, the most important person in your life. It's all fake." This was where it started stinging. Despite her will, she was including herself in the group of Cress enthusiasts. This was what hurt.

It was a rather intense reaction, considering, and Marina was amused by it. "Well then I'll admit, I'm not sure I'd want to meet your mother," she replied. She was sure that Ariadne's statement was accurate, though, considering how Mrs. Beaurevoir's children had turned out.

A glare slipped, even though she was fairly contained. This wasn't the worst day, and she genuinely hoped she would win -- by district or work affiliation -- by the end of it. "Good thing I wasn't planning on bringing you home," she gently snapped. After all, this was a sponsor she was talking to. If she appreciated a little edge, good. If not... well, that was all Ariadne had to offer.

Marina watched as the nurse set the camp ablaze, sipping her iced coffee. She had sent her support and done her part, and now the Games were about to end. There was no more time for sponsor gifts and no more time to change loyalties. In the end, she wondered if she'd made the right choices. While all of this was going on in her mind, her expression was one of casual interest.

"My mother would have eaten this woman for... fucking brunch," Ariadne spat out, though remembering her mother did not come randomly. To care was to haunt; the finale very much said it.

Everett was leaning into the TV, watching from a viewing room that was more crowded than usual. This was the finale, after all, and the nurse was setting the entire camp ablaze. Soon the tributes would likely all be pushed to the center and forced to battle it out. He just didn't know if Conny would -- things had grown so entangled, and his hands were pressed tight together, his lips whispering, "Come on, come on, come on..." waiting for any glimpse of his tribute.

She shoved her way to sit next to Everett, more punishment than reward, but, by all means, at least he wasn't loudly chewing bubblegum. "She's not gonna make it, isn't she? You would never be so competent as a mentor." Her own tribute was alive, but she didn't have it in her heart to root for Juliana over her own district. Yet, the fake competition she felt she had going on with Everett was even stronger. "Mine will slaughter yours within minutes."

Rush was a little taken aback by her tone, because he hadn't meant to upset her, but clearly talking about his trouser of choice seemed to anger her in a way he hadn't expected.

"I thought you were fucking ready to die in them," she huffed at his yielding nature, vengeful and frustrated for no reason outside of her. This had nothing to do with this poor, clueless boy.

He’s somehow managed to change out of his ball outfit and into some sweats he’d found in his room that almost definitely didn’t belong to him— maybe the stylist had put them there, but he was grateful, they were soft and cosy and felt nice even if he felt like he was dying.

It felt odd, out of place, to be told that. Ariadne wanted to vanish, fuck fashion opinions and sweatpants fabric. How could he prance around in cozy sweats like everything wasn't almost literally on immediate fire?

I say, leave me alone, this is my winter,  I will stay here if I choose

"Well, just don't bite her," Holland said, holding the snake out towards Ariadne, thinking of the other girl's Arena. The animals in it hadn't always been so friendly, and maybe handing Flower Petal over wasn't the best idea -- but she never wanted to be judged by her Arena, and she shouldn't do it towards others. "It is ugly, but animals don't have to be pretty. If they all were it'd be boring."

Ariadne glared coldly at the reptile, her neck guarded and ready to jerk, but only if it was needed. "It doesn't matter it's not pretty. But it's not," Ariadne cleared out, not as concerned with aesthetics herself, though she had a set of eyes and the discernment to decide this animal was disgusting.

Most days, I am an alley that no one will enter alone.

To observe her this closely was a sacrament, the holy process of transubstantiation converting hollowness into an expression overflowing. Cress felt sanctified in its presence, in her proximity to something so powerful that -- even without understanding -- it could be felt. "You are a woman who wants. They will always call you a black hole." And if it was true, if there was such a pull that it consumed all things, Cress felt there was no use resisting. She'd rather go willingly, to dive head-first. To be consumed wholly was almost as good as to consume whole.

She afforded this one chuckle. "Oh. Nobody calls me a black hole." No, this was the sort of village witch nonsense where she painted herself in as dark of a shade as possible, where she lurked in the shadows only, where she worked on this image of mystery and drama. But, even if she wasn't going to admit to any of it, the validation did tickle.