the knife i turn inside myself;

Mason turned to look at the man who was talking to him, a little confused about what he was saying. "No.. I'm not." What did it even mean to be in the tower as someone's plus one? "I'm actually here for myself. My father sent me because he wanted me to be here. It had nothing to do my brother." Mason told him, slightly offended. "Did Miller tell you that?"

"So you really think the fact that your brother is a very recent victor had nothing to do with it? It was all skill, right? They really liked your face." Carol realized he could play around with this. He could make it worth his while. "Maybe he did, why do you care? Do you want to see what we text each other?"

Cat's jaw immediately set, clicking in and out of place. The slight snark didn't play well with Cat, even if it may not have been intended but she huffed out a sigh, shouldering off the bite, she continued, trying to keep things light, at least a little caring. "You got wicked existential or – I dunno you were talkin' about some shit that sounded kinda intense, 'scuse me for wantin' to check in on you," She muttered, feeling a bit embarrassed for offering the kindness.

"It doesn't ring any bells." He knew exactly what he had said, and him pouring out some of his soul didn't even get him to feel anxious or embarrassed -- all this emotion was flowing like water already. Instead, he was fairly offended that she couldn't even remember a word right. It wasn't existential. It was a fucking love story. "You're very kind, though. How can I make it up to you?"

Rio's teeth sank into his cheek as he blankly stared at the screen, as though anything remotely interesting could still be happening now that the last of Four's tributes had, like predicted, died. And gruesomely, too. Even despite his annoyance, Rio considered demanding to know why the Gamemakers had picked one of his to be killed by whatever mutt was stringing tributes up on a flagpole. He looked over at Carol when he breathed out the words and hummed. "Let's do something else. I don't want to fucking sit around anymore."

Carol was more guarded this time, holding all his emotional outbursts by the hand. Instead, he had inherited Rio's cold look. Suddenly, this was a talk show, sterile and mind game. Suddenly, this was a dick measuring contest of who cared in a smaller amount. "And you propose what?"

Greer's eyes flashed to the hysterical sponsor, and she had to make an active effort to keep her face from twisting at the sight of it. "I wasn't plannin' on it," Greer told Carol. "Guess I didn't sink enough money into a dyin' tribute to weep in a viewing room," she rolled her eyes at the insincere sobbing. "It really ruined all their party plans, I'm sure."

"If you stay right here, I can talk to them, and we'll be on their private jet on our way to that dead kid's funeral in no time. In or no in?" Carol very seriously and very intensely delivered. This already sounded like a plan. Ideas were easy when the people with the means to make them true listened to whatever tune you feel like singing to them.

Harlow's brow creased and she looked over toward Carol as he spoke. She hadn't spoken much to the other Victor, so the conversation seemed to have come out of left field. "I'm not sure," she replied honestly, "they might know something, or a Peacekeeper might. Why, is something going to happen?"

"No, I was just thinking about french kissing and went on a spiral... all the way over to french killing, I assume. Whatever this french is," Carol shrugged, enthusiastic to give away his thought process. It made everything less lonely.

Abel smiled even though Carol didn't seem to have a clue what was going on, and he wished for a moment he had the same outlook. "That'd be impressive-- they would have to resurrect one of them" he hummed, but it wasn't aggressive, not much offended Abel really.

"They've done it before," Carol shrugged, as if this could happen again any day now. "But it does go against pretty much every rule of the Games, so... Better luck next time? I feel the same sore loss?" This was mainly a lie, but both were attempts at a decent conversation. "Blink once, and we'll be back here with fresh tributes."

"Hey," Cat greeted, feeling like she needed to check on Carol. She'd been coherent enough to remember the...spiral that'd poured from his mouth. Carol didn't need a mother or someone to take care of him, he was a grown fucking man, but he might need a friend. "You okay after last night?" She asked, her brow furrowing down.

A cocky tsk away, his eyebrows furrowed with false softness. "Oh, Cat Millers. You okay after last night?" he parroted back in a dreamy sigh, wanting to point out that one of them had been in a worse state than the other. He had no need to be mothered worse than she did.

“So, we’re down to the final few now” Abel pointed out the obvious. He hated watching the games, but he hated watching the games in utter silence even more, he’d do just about anything to fill it. “Who do you think will come out as victor?” He asked Carol, even though nobody could ever really predict it, especially at this point.

Carol got lost in his thoughts, eyes on a screen he was no longer following -- he hadn't been following for maybe a day now. A flinch later came the realization that he was being talked to. Courteous and smiling, but utterly lost, he shrugged it off. "It's not Four, so it's all the same to me. Umm... your tribute, maybe."

In a sense, I’m the one who ruined me: I did it myself.

Monty grinned, purple lips curling like the Cheshire Cat. He simply adored when Mentors knew what they were doing - and Carol certainly knew how to play the game. It was something that Four had always had the benefit of: Victors-turned-Mentors who knew what got them to Victory.

"Ah," Carol grinned without enthusiasm, reminded of a dreadfully mediocre evening that felt uncomfortable around all edges, despite his best attempts at making it work, to make it enjoyable, to make it through it. Yet, everything was all wrong. "I can't complain about anything. Perhaps that's the problem."

sometimes I worry I’m not looking for love, that I’m looking for a religion to have sex with.