SCORNED.

“Good morning, Thea,” Jeremiah approached the woman from District 2 with his hands in his pockets. With how closely he’s worked with other people from District 2 - whether for alliances in the games or more secret plans that he wouldn’t divulge - their paths crossed a few times. And with the games in full swing, he needed a distraction. He wasn’t interested in watching these kids suffer, and he didn’t really need to start kissing sponsors asses just yet. One of the many benefits of being from a career district. The night before he had locked in enough to keep Nadia comfortable for a few days. So he might as well mingle right? At least mingle with those he knew were his allies. And while he didn’t know much about the woman before him, he could assume that she didn’t really want to watch what was happening either. “You’re looking lovely.” Putting on a charming smile, Jeremiah offered the woman a hand. “They’ve got a really nice garden out in the courtyard. Would you like to join me in exploring?”

She's been thrown off of her game now, something that she'll need to work on. It can't be that easy to have her lose focus right now, she needs to get her head back on straight. "Two did alright a few years ago." But alright doesn't really cut it, and they both know that. Besides last year Two had been almost embarrassing. An old man and an academy flunk? Silena hadn't expected anything out of either of them and still isn't convinced it wasn't rigged when the girl won in the first place. "Four would be good to have around since we don't know what kind of climate we're looking at." There had been basic swimming lessons at the academy but it definitely isn't Silena's strong suit. "Seven might be okay if it's someone older." Even Eleven has had stronger contenders in the past. They're certainly not careers, but given the nature of their industries, they often worked physical jobs which could lead to strong tributes. Sometimes. She matches Eden's eyeroll with one of her own, not a huge fan of having to avenge the little guy but she knows the Capitol will eat it up. "I'll find someone who can pull their weight but won't actually be a threat in the big picture. Shouldn't be hard."

At the end of the day, that's all this really is anyway — finding ways to bend to the fickle whims of the Capitol. There isn't any use in talking strategy until they can actually see what they're up against, because truth be told if Silena's the best looking tribute and the deadliest to boot, there's not much that will keep her from a win; especially in recent years. Sure, Eden may have her own opinion about last year's winner and some of the other victors from Two, but they've all got one thing in common: fuckability. The very thought of that makes her cringe outwardly, even if the blonde knows this is nothing she can shield her little sister from. Hell, Silena's likely looking forward to it, and that alone would be enough to send Eden into a downward spiral if she thought about it too hard. Instead, she does what she always does. A mechanical smile pulls at her features, and she forces herself to release the tension from between her shoulder blades. "No matter what, you'll be perfect. They'll love you. Just like they loved me." Like they loved Opal, she wants to add — but that hadn't been enough to save her, so Eden leaves it hang in the air unsaid.

But the other mentor was talking again, and maybe there was hope yet. Stay away from the sponsors. God Ryder wished he could. “Sponsorships would be easier with the two of us working the crowd.” He said as he watched the girl from Three almost immediately stab herself with a spear. He didn’t need to see Eden’s eyes to know that she wouldn’t like the next part of his plan. “For example,” Lifting his eyes over Eden’s shoulder to the corner where the biggest sponsors sat to observe and start making notes of where their money would go. There was one man at the head of the table. One he knew far too well for his own liking, dressed in the ugliest and loudest shade of orange to exist. “I know him,” The slight tilt of his head was the only hint to which sponsor he was speaking about. “...I’m his favorite.” He didn’t elaborate. Ryder didn’t need to. Eden knew what he meant. “He’s got more money than God and no idea what to do with it. I go to him and say that Marcus and Silena are a package deal, they’ll be set.” Ryder twisted the ring on his thumb, the newest creation he made before having to get on the train to come here — a glistening reminder he had better things to do than watch citizens kill each other. “And when Marcus dies…I start telling everyone that his dying wish was to put all his sponsorships toward Silena…to bring pride to the District where he failed to.”

"If you dislike him so much then don't fucking sell his case. Tell your little friends he's a lost cause, tell them to put their money into the real contender from One, and then don't do anything else. Problem solved." Problem not solved, really. The problem will exist until Silena leaves the arena in one piece, alone, but as far as Eden's concerned that will always be a problem just for her. To involve Ryder feels like signing her own sister's death sentence, and all she wants this year is for Silena to come home — despite her jealousy, despite her inability to voice her concerns to her sister, that is all Eden can focus on. "I have this under control, Ryder, don't fuck it up with your weird vendetta and your need to be involved. This isn't your year."

When the question passes his lips, part of him is afraid of what her answer may be. It's over, Owen. Three words float through his mind, now sounding like Thea's voice rather than his own. Somehow, he believes them more, coming from her. It's over, Owen. It's over, Owen. It's o -- Of course. Her words pull him out what the stupor he's fighting off, keep him from choking on the reality that's set in. He's not sure when he lifted his head up to look at her, or how long he's been standing there with her. I'm proud of you for surviving. Six words and he begins to lose the last piece of resolve he has. His heart picks up his pace, slamming against his chest just as it had when he was in the Arena. Only now, he's not fighting tributes in the dark, he's struggling to breathe. His hands move to Thea's, holding them tightly. He doesn't know if it's enough to hurt her, but it's enough to keep him from hitting to the floor. "I --" He starts, words caught in his throat.

Emotions weren't a strong suit for Owen -- He had always played the role of a tough older brother, brave and brazen no matter the situation. A smile ever present at his features, chin held high as he glided through life. This was when he was supposed to feel the excitement, right? The thrill of bringing glory to his home and his family, of being a victor? Unshed tears gather in his eyes, every sentence he tries to string together getting caught in his throat. He's never been more grateful for Thea than in this moment, when every piece of him begins to crumble and he's left with shards to glue back together before they reach the Capitol. Eyes blink furiously to try and push away tears, though it does nothing -- His cheeks are stained, chin wobbling. It reminds him of running to his mother after a nightmare, hoping she'll be able to shoo away the monster under his bed. Owen knows Thea will do just the same, until he can get his feet back under him.

He barely registers what's being said to him, but the word tribute sends him right into the dim glow of the arena -- The heavy weight of a machete in his hand, blood splattering on him with ever swing. Blood that's already dried on his skin. "I can't --" He tries again, shaking his head as a new layer of fear settles in. "I can't go back there, Thea." Owen manages to get a full sentence out, trying and failing to take a deep breath. It's over, Owen. This isn't how it's supposed to be, he can't help but think. He's spent years dreaming of this moment -- And now, all he wants to do is curl into a ball and disappear. "I can't -- Please, Thea." What he's pleading for, Owen's not sure. Hopefully the woman in front of him will be able to decipher what he's trying to say. "I can't go back there." He's not sure where there is -- If he's meaning the Arena, the Capitol, any of it.

Of course his eyes have grown used to darkness, having been forced to adjust to it for days on end, and the almost blinding electricity in the hovercraft must be nearly torturous. Slowly, she guides them toward the metal seating lining the walls, throwing a sharp look to the guards that are there for 'safety purposes' before she tells them to dim the lights, please. Thankfully, they don't argue and hopefully, Owen will find some comfort in it. But his distress isn't fading and Thea's prepared herself for this, sure, but it doesn't make it any easier. She's quick to try and comfort him, hands still holding tightly to his as she tries her best to help him understand that he's safe.

"The arena is gone, it's over. You never have to go back again, you never have to hurt anyone again." Thea nearly whispers the last part, her fear of making any sort of treasonous comment getting the best of her as it always does — but if it helps Owen come back to reality, she'll commit treason ten times over. Their impending landing is much closer than Thea would like it to be, though, and she has to warn him — has to prepare him for the phenomena and the whirlwind that is to come as best she can. And he'll need to be ready for it, even if she can manage to hold the masses off for some time — he simply doesn't have a choice. "But we have to face the Capitol, darling. And then we can go home."

She had thought she was doing okay with it. She'd had a rocky start to mentoring but she had eventually found her footing — more or less. Nothing about this would ever be easy, but Shay had thought she could find a way to live through it. And maybe she would have been able to, had her entire world not been once again shifted this afternoon. She had known nothing good would come from a request from President Snow. She'd been on edge from the moment she'd gotten the message, nausea churning in her stomach the entire ride to the President's estate. And while she had had no idea what to expect from the meeting, she had certainly not been expecting what had happened. The offer — though Shay would hardly call it that, given the fact that she didn't think she was really allowed to say no — to spend her nights in bed with Capitol citizens, to give away her body to those willing to spend to dollar. It all made her head spin and her throat burn with bile, and she is fairly certain that she blacked out while adamantly refusing, something the President had told her wasn't an option.

Which is where she finds herself now, her heartrate on the verge of a medical emergency and her head spinning. She can't think — she can't even breathe. Her hands shake to the point where they feel useless, and that's only made more frustrating when she drops the glass she'd been holding, flinching at the sound as it shatters and water splashes her feet. If she's shocked to see Thea, she doesn't show it. Under normal circumstances, she would be — Thea has been scarce these days, though no one can blame her. Shay feels as though the two of them walk on eggshells around each other but right now it's all she can do to lean into the relationship they'd had once. Thea had been like a second mother to her, something that she desperately needs right now. Her eyes brim with tears, throat tightening. "I had to go see Snow today," her voice sounds far away, her mind foggy with panic and grief for the life she knows she is being condemned to. "He wants me to... He wants me to..." she repeats the beginning of her sentence, trailing off twice because the idea of finishing it seems impossible.

I had to go see Snow.

Almost instantly, Thea's spine straightens, her once warm demeanor turns unintentionally cold. They'd known this was coming — or Thea had, anyway, but she'd been too overcome with grief to discuss it at all with Owen or Nico. For a moment all of the fear she's been avoiding overtakes her completely, but she forces herself to remain coherent for Shay's sake. This is life or death — maybe not for her but for everyone they love, and Shay deserves every ounce of strength she can muster to help her through this. It's the least Thea can do after giving so little up until now. "Okay. It's alright, darling, breathe. Let's—" she looks back toward her open door, trying to figure out the distance she'll have to cross to get them somewhere safe. But they can't talk about this here, and if Thea has to physically drag Shay through her room to get them somewhere they can talk, she will. "Come on."

Gently but firmly, she guides Shay up and across the shards of broken glass that litter the floor — an Avox will clean it and besides, they've got much bigger problems to worry about. It almost seems as though she's guiding Shay through a haze before they finally reach Thea's bathroom, and she's quick to turn on every faucet before grabbing a wet cloth to clean any glass wounds. But that isn't why they're here, and for all of the maternal warmth she may want to give Shay now, her need to understand exactly what's happening overpowers it all. "I need you to tell me everything that happened. Everything that was said."

Needless to say, there’s no love between District One and Twelve. There’s a glaringly obvious difference between the two, it doesn't take much to figure that out. Eden and Cyrus are no different. He finds the blonde to be insufferable, with an over inflated ego that he enjoys poking holes in. She's everything he hates about the Capitol, the Games, then entire system. Sure, she’s ended up in his bed on more than one occasion — He hates her, but Cyrus can’t deny that he’s a simple man. Despite how insufferable Eden is, she’s gorgeous, all legs and blonde hair. Once he’s had a few drinks (and typically when he and Dinah aren’t speaking), insults turn into tearing each other's clothes off. A means to an end. 

“Pretty fucked up that the guy who killed one’a your sisters is the one helping mentor this one.” Cyrus greets her, downing another glass of champagne as he approaches her. Looking her up and down, he's grateful his idiot stylist has always opted to just put him in black -- Rather than something so shiny it makes him wince, like the prep team from District One. Bit on the nose, if you ask him. “Hopefully it goes better this time.” Cyrus continues with a shrug, glancing over his shoulder at Silena across the room. He can't deny she's a frontrunner for the Games, given that she's the spitting image of Eden -- The younger and shinier version, who will certainly put on a show for the Capitol and sponsors. She certainly blows his own pathetic tributes out of the water.

"Or maybe that's your strategy?" He continues, smirk at his lips, hoping to get a rise out of the woman. "Off the other two so the Capitol will only pay attention to you? S'one hell of a way to secure your spot, Vale."

It isn’t as if he’s not good looking — but he looks as if someone plucked one of the shiny, polished men from One and ran him through a diamond saw over and over again, only for it to spit out something horrifyingly rugged and worn. Cyrus is dirty, and calloused with a personality that repulses her, and even looks can't make up for their glaringly obvious differences. Eden normally wouldn't touch someone like him with a ten foot pole, but there's something to be said about a hate-fuck and that is the only thing that keeps her from chucking him into her pile of used toys once and for all. Although, dealing with his uncouth comments makes her reconsider that with every moment that passes. "It will."

The words come through gritted teeth, her irritation shining through despite Eden's best efforts at keeping in contained. But it's as if he's somehow peered into her brain and caught a glimpse of all the awful things she's been thinking lately (and trying desperately not to), and it takes everything in her to maintain her composure. "My spot is more than secured here, thank you. I know you don't have much experience in the dynamics of a winning district, Cyrus, but this is typically how it goes in One — we've got so many well-trained families, it'd be ridiculous to assume there wouldn't be some overlap." That isn't the case for Ryder, of course, but his ridiculous situation doesn't make her words any less true. "And we've never deluded ourselves into thinking both tributes could win."

"My sister's the former — obviously. She's been a front runner since the first time she picked up a knife. I'm sure your tributes are great but... If we're being honest, I think we both know Two's getting put in time out this year because of you." The lie rolls easily off of Eden's tongue — this ridiculous rumor she's been spreading probably isn't anywhere close to the truth, but if she can convince even the subject of it that this is what people are saying, maybe she'll get her way. Shay isn't a typical Career victor but she's far from being a complete disaster, however if Eden can manage to plant the seed that Two's chances to win this year are nonexistent before they even step foot in the arena, that clears a huge path for Silena to come out on top. "Not your problem though, right? Now you get to just sit back and enjoy!"

It's a blur of blinding lights, getting from the darkness of the arena to the carrier. He can't help but squeeze his eyes shut the entire time he's being lifted, only half convinced the Games are over. His heart is still beating too fast for him to relax, his hand refusing to let go of his machete for fear of what could happen next. It's over, he repeats, though the words fall on deaf ears. He's spent every moment of the last week fighting to stay alive, while he can barely see his own hands in front of him. No mantra is going to help pull him off this edge. His eyes still struggle to adjust while he's brought into some kind of waiting area, part of him worried this is some final test. Truthfully, Owen can barely see properly, let alone register what's actually happening around him -- All he knows is that he needs to keep a tight grip on his machete, just in case.

And then -- There's Thea. He blinks once, twice, three times, begging his blurry eyes to properly adjust. They do well enough as she comes closer, the sight of his mentor and long time friend helping calm his rapidly beating heart. The sight of her helps him breathe easier, the unbreakable trust they share proving to him that he's no longer in the arena. He doesn't say anything immediately; The adrenaline has begun to ware off and he's left with the reality of what happened in the last week. Eyes glance down to see how much blood still clings to him -- To his tattered clothes, his dirty hair, practically imbedded into his skin. He'd murder people he called allies, slaughtered other tributes like they weren't actual people. It had been a game to him, something to bring him pride and glory, but in that moment all he could muster was a guilt and shame that threatened to pull him under. At some point, he drops the machete by his feet, taking Thea's hands in his own. He can't seem to muster the right words to say then -- He feels dizzy, a headache forming behind his eyes and the need to scrub his skin raw starts to settle in.

Congratulations. She sounds like she's underwater, words muffled by something he can't quite name. Owen had always dreamed of this moment, of the way he'd feel -- The swell of pride, the excitement to return to the Capitol for a crown and victory tour. All the riches that await him and his family back in Two. Instead, he's left feeling small. Part of him got left behind the darkness of the arena, and now he's leaving without it. It's over. Two words he'd been saying to himself finally land when they pass Thea's lips -- It's over, Owen. The bough breaks with three words, yanking him out of his stupor and back into reality. He lurches forward, pulling her into a hug. While his demeanor hadn't necessarily been calm moments before, it certainly isn't now -- A wave of emotions hit him, a mixture threatening to choke him if he's not careful. He holds on to Thea for dear life, not caring if his grip is too tight or if he's getting blood on her clothes. She's the only thing that's tethering him to the ground right now. It's over, Owen. It's over, Owen. It's over, Owen.

The passage of time has been unclear for the last week, and now is no excuse. He's not sure if he stood there with her for minutes or hours, but he refuses to let go. Instead, his eyes squeeze shut once more and shaking arms remain around his mentor. He opens his mouth to speak, only no words come out -- His head feels like it's spinning, stringing together any sort of sentence has become a struggle. Owen tries three different times, though all he's met with is wet cheeks and his entire body shaking.

Finally, he finds his voice, leaning a small distance away from Thea so that he can look her in the eye. His voice comes out soft, smaller than he'd care to admit to -- Like he's a child, looking for validation from his mother after a nightmare. There's no excitement, no pride, just a boy seeking to fulfill his duty. "Did I make you proud, Thea?"

And then, the way he looks at her breaks her heart almost completely. Did he make her proud when he prevailed to the end? Did it make her proud that he was forced to slaughter twenty three other children? (And they are children, even the older ones, no matter how well they've been trained or how mature they seem.) The real answer is no, but not by any fault of Owen's. Pride is the only thing driving most of the tributes from Two when they enter the Games; pride and a misguided sense of what glory should look like. It might be better if she tells him now that this — victory — is a fraudulent hoax curated by the Capitol to make killers of them all. But Thea isn't that cruel, and the hope in his eyes won't allow her to do anything to take away from his good fortune just yet. "Of course," she nods, letting her hand cup his cheek gently so as not to startle him. "I'm proud of you for surviving."

That, at least, is the truth. In the few years she's been mentoring, Thea's never wanted a tribute to win so badly and she is proud of him for making it out alive. She'll be proud to deliver him back to his family in one piece, and she'll be more than willing to stand by him when the more difficult parts of being a victor catch up to him. But that's a conversation for another time, and right now they need to focus on keeping him in the present. "We'll be back to the tribute center soon, and they'll want you to clean up a bit before we start celebrating," she looks at him then, forces her face to remain neutral so as not to betray how sickening the thought of a celebration seems to her. "I can hold them off for a bit if you'd like me to — maybe a day or two so you can get reoriented. And I'll stay with you... but only if you want, of course."

Though she had been unsure how Thea would react. For all Shay knew, she would brush her off and push her away. She was grateful that she hadn't. She sits nearby, frowning a little and shaking her head. "I didn't mean... You don't have to watch that for me." Really, Shay should be eating more but everything makes her want to vomit these days. "I just meant... this is a hard time for everyone. It's probably better if everyone's in their best shape." She has no idea why she's even saying any of this — she doesn't even really mean it. Hard is an understatement for them right now, this entire thing having completely pulled the rug out from under them. And honestly, Shay has no intentions on ever coming back here anyways — so who cares what shape she's in come launch day? "I'm sorry about all of this."

This is still painful, though, and Thea's sure they both feel it. And while none of them are to blame but the Capitol, Thea knows she isn't making this any easier for any of them. With the way she's been acting, it's no surprise that Shay thinks she's at fault here, or that she's got something to apologize for. And that's the last thing Thea wants, because if Shay goes into the arena with a death wish then neither of them will make it out. So her head shakes quickly, a poor attempt on Thea's part at dispelling any guilt Shay might carry — but it's all she's got to offer. "You didn't ask for this. You don't need to apologize for anything. I..." Thea nearly chokes on her own words, her jaw clenching as she forces herself to believe what she's saying. It's like pulling teeth, but she has to get there and accept the reality of the situation — if not for her own sanity, then for the two actually going into the arena. "Just come home. That's all we want."

“Thea?” Monroe had been up most of the night the night before, and she still couldn’t sleep. There was far too much to do, far too little time, and the nightmares were starting back up again. It was easier for her to just work through the night, sleep once everything is done, and maybe miss some of the games. She didn’t need to see the bloodshed again. Never again. She hadn’t wanted to in the first place, but she was sent here for  a reason. She had been pouring hot water into a mug, watching as the liquid darkened as the tea started to brew, when footsteps echoed behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she was surprised to see the former victor standing in the doorway. Thea had been so scarce since the reaping, Monroe had almost forgotten she was there. “I didn’t see you there.” It came out more like a question. Like Monroe was anxious to say the wrong thing. It wasn’t like she was scared of Thea, she just wasn’t sure if the older woman liked her. “Couldn’t sleep either?” She asked lamely, eyes going back down to the mug in front of her. “Can I offer you some tea?”

A soft snort escaped Ryder’s throat as brown eyes returned to the blonde woman beside him. “Hm. See, Eden. I know you’re a smart woman, and writing me off like that wouldn’t be that smart.” He shifted his stance so that he turned to face her a little bit more. To anyone else in the room it looked like two mentor’s talking about alliances. Which in a way was what Ryder wanted, just not in the way they all assumed. “Look,  we both watched the games, and we both saw your sister get a little too confident in that arena, and we all saw me take an opportunity that anyone else would have. And now I’m here, with an offer for another opportunity, but this time one that we both benefit from. You can plot my demise if you want. But just hear me out first.” A work worn finger pressed against the glass, right over Silena’s head from their vantage point. “You want her to make it out of the arena.” He said to the older woman, sparing a glance at Eden to show that it was not a question, simply an observation. “And I want,” Ryder mused, fingertip dragging across the glass until it was resting right over Marcus. His tribute, mentee, former friend. “Him dead.”

Eden runs the new information she’s been given over in her head a few times before she acts on it. It’s an intriguing admission for sure, but not enough to turn her opinion of him around. Quite frankly, Eden’s got no desire to leave her sister’s fate in the hands of whatever vendetta Ryder has — not unless he can come up with something incredible for her to work with. Instead, she’d rather he just stayed the fuck out of her way for the entirety of the Games this year — and in a fantasy world, he’d lock himself in his room and only come out when they were called back to One, but Eden knows she’d never get that lucky. “Great! Then we’re on the same page. Stay away from him, stay away from the sponsors, and don’t say a fucking word to my sister.” The last thing she needs is this moron getting in her head with a strategy differing from the one Eden’s working hard to perfectly craft. “If you’re very good, maybe you’ll get what you want.”

"Not that I'll need it for a while," she hums, though she remembers Eden's victory. She had come home looking... not different, but not quite herself either. Some people may have chalked it up to the trauma that everyone pretends doesn't exist, but Silena knows that hadn't really been it. She'd been shiner somehow. Whatever the Capitol had given her (which she hadn't needed because honestly, Eden has always been aggravatingly beautiful) had turned her into the best version of herself but done it in such subtle ways that even their family had a hard time picking out the differences. She can't help but wonder what they'll do to her. "Although I wouldn't hate it if they carved my jawline out a little. You should start advocating for that as soon as everyone else picks up on my inevitable win."

Oh, okay, right to business. She shouldn't be surprised when Eden wants to talk strategy right away, she needs to get her head back in the game, after all. She has her entire life to focus on the luxuries of the Capitol, for now she needs to focus on the task at hand. "I'm open to alliances in the beginning. It makes sense for Marcus and I to stick together — he's stronger than me, but I'm faster than him. It could work for a while. And we'll see what Two and Four bring to the table. I'd rather get it all over and done with sooner than later, though. I know the games are supposed to be a show, but I'd rather not be in there for weeks at a time." She remembers one year the games had gone on for nearly a month and the idea of going that long without a shower makes her want to rip her skin off.

Her head tilts, fingers crushing the glass of water she delicately sips at in an attempt to mask her features as she forces herself to stay in check. They’ve got more important things to worry about than this, and Eden won’t let her moments of envy be the reason her sister bleeds out in an arena. “Two’s been floundering lately but Four could be promising. If you want, it’s sometimes good to bring in someone from an outer district. Gives your alliance an easy breaking point and if you let someone else kill first, you can take the rest of them out right after. That’ll be a good chunk of your competition done for. And sponsors are suckers for a heroic Career avenging the little guy.” Eden’s eyes roll hard at that — and that certainly hadn’t been her own strategy, but Silena’s got a look of sweetness to her that could make it work. “Just something to keep in mind during training. That’s when you’ll really scope things out.”

There's still a certain excitement for him when it comes the Games -- Now it's accompanied by a certain guilt, when all things are considered. But, Owen can't help but enjoy the spotlight. The Capitol loved him (Loved you enough to put your sister in the Games, a voice in his head reminds him), which made it all the more exciting. Any chance he got to sit across from Cesar Flickerman, or attend a party, it filled him with adrenaline. In moments like that, it was just a game again -- Not life and death, not him waking up screaming after dreaming of his sister being beheaded in the arena. It's Owen the Victor, schmoozing and rubbing elbows, while enjoying champagne and as much food as he can manage. Each time he tries something new, he makes a mental note of what he thinks Thea may like, and what he should bring back to the apartments with him.

He knows this is the last time he'll be in this position. Well, it will be if this rebellion works better than the last. He might as well stay out late and enjoy himself. The suit his stylist put him in is a bit itchy, and... Well, it's not something he would pick for himself, but it represents District Two. Good enough. Grabbing a flute full of some overly sweet and suspiciously green cocktail, Owen scans the room for a certain tall blonde. His relationship with Eden was only sort of defined, but when they were at the Capitol, he found himself gravitating towards her. It was almost pavlovian. "Your stylist outdid themselves," he opens with, his hand snaking around her waist as he approaches her from behind. Eden isn't exactly his girlfriend, but she's certainly become the closest thing to it. Owen knows she's not exactly everyone's cup of tea -- But she's never failed to keep him in her orbit. He already knows he'll be sneaking down to the District One apartments in the middle of the night at some point. "Your ass looks fucking amazing in that dress," He points out, ever the romantic. Leaning in, he kisses Eden's cheek, letting his arm linger. "S'good to see you."

No one’s really looking at them now, though, so she allows Owen’s arm to linger around her waist as her own wraps around his neck — allows herself to lean into the kiss he plants on her cheek more than she would for a normal, fleeting hello. Her lips even pull into what might be considered a genuine smile, but it doesn’t last long. Eden’s public persona is never anything less than perfectly crafted, and showing real emotion isn’t in the script. “You too. I’m surprised you’ve got time to say hello to me,” she all but murmurs the words back to him, keeping her head close to his ear. Anyone watching will just see some very innocent flirting but nothing too scandalous — at least, that’s what she hopes. “Bringing someone new onto the team is always a challenge. Even if it's someone you know.” She carefully avoids mentioning the word sister — not only because she’s got no interest in hearing about his family dynamic, but he might try to equate his situation with her own this year and that’s not a topic Eden wants to touch on in front of a rabid crowd.

As they exchange pleasantries, his lips linger by her ear with a smirk on his lips. "You look beautiful, but you already knew that," he says before joining her to peer at the board. Elias slides a hand into the pocket of his tuxedo, his eyes never leaving it as he speaks. "I'm actually in the mood to see a pathetic outlier win this year, considering it will mean a retirement and hopefully my promotion," he suggests with an evil smile encroaching on his looks. "Then I'd have some real control for you. Should've asked your sister to wait, Eden."

“In fact, I think that’d make a great storyline, don’t you? The last in a line of beautiful potential victors sets out to avenge her fallen sister and bring pride back to her district. People are talking about how disastrous last year was, you know. That girl is dull despite being from Two — everyone expected something shinier from a victor’s sister. Lucky for you, I delivered.” In truth, Eden’s only heard a few old hags blabbering about how ‘Two doesn’t produce victors like they used to anymore’ and she knows Owen’s sister will likely have her fair share of suitors despite being a fucking bore, but the truth isn’t going to do her any favors here. “Could even be sure grounds for a promotion, as long as you make it known it was your idea. Banking on a retirement is a little bit of a gamble, don't you think?”

District 2– it’s well known to be a career district with numerous victors. It’s also namely known for volunteers. Every year a name is called and the words ‘I volunteer as tribute’ ring out not too long after. That is unless someone who will bring pride to their district is called— then there’s more hesitation to snag the coveted spot. It’s an honor, a source of pride, and while there’s a new victor among those in District 2, there was no doubt in Nico's mind as he stood next to Shay and eyes lingered on Owen and Thea from the Reaping that there would be more volunteers.

What fucking idiots.

Now that the mentors and victors are all back in the Capitol to be shown off to the piece of shits that live there, Nico finds himself on edge more often than not. He's no longer one of them. He's no longer part of the group that sees being a mentor and a victor as an honor. The well of his patience with the Capitol had shriveled up and burned up with Shay's reaping, something he couldn't even stop. The events, the apartment, the training center-- it's all a reminder of what they had lost. Ezra, their sanity, countless tributes that all seem to blend together, themselves. Nico takes two glasses of water from the Avox and moves back to Thea from the bar area. While he's barely hanging onto his sanity-- hers is long gone buried under dirt and a rock. "Thea," he says lightly but loud enough for her to hear him over the Capitol crowd. "Join me back on Earth," he murmurs, showing her the water. "It's only another thirty minutes and then we can leave, I promise," he adds.

It’s pathetic the way she looks at Nico when he returns to her with a much needed glass of water — eyes wide, her hands all but trembling as she takes a tentative sip. I can’t do this plays over and over in her mind on a torturous loop, a reminder of why she's been isolating herself in the first place. But they must be here, and through the haze of her grief Thea knows she needs to be of some kind of sound mind to help Shay where the boys can't, so she nods and forces herself to remain present — even if it's one of the most difficult things she's ever done. "We're caged animals," she muses, low enough that thankfully only Nico will hear. It's dangerous to speak like that and Thea's never even toed the line of rebellion out of pure fear, but with Ezra gone she's felt more and more like she's got nothing left to lose.

Nothing, that is, except the kids she's decided to look after as her own. It's the only thing that keeps her from completely falling off the edge these days. "I hate when they dress me like this — so ridiculously. I don't understand why I can't wear my own clothing." Because your own clothing is a tattered, dirty linen dress, a voice supplies in the back of her mind, but Thea bats it away. After a beat, she looks back to Nico. "How is Shay handling it all? I know I've been so..." A pause, but she's sure they both understand what she's trying to say. "I know."