(are you mad?)

“You know what? I respect that. And you’re probably sick of pregnancy scoldings, so I’ll just… You’ve obviously got this under control,” Carol gracefully admitted, raising his hands to shoulder level in order to reason with her. Funnily, he even believed what he was saying, now eager to get out of the conversation itself and move onto another.

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“Obviously,” she repeated, as if it were obvious, and good that he’d caught on finally to what everyone else was already thinking. Not that she’d had to lead him to that response, practically beg him to say what he’d said. “And how about you? Full recovery after last Games, I assume?”

“I think the sooner you stop lying to yourself, the better. Nothing about this is usually lovely or easy,” Carol pointed out pragmatically, though this entire conversation was making him feel slightly uncomfortable, as if the topic itself did not make sense to him, nor her pitch. 

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She turned that over in her mind but rejected it fairly easily. “No. If I allow myself to become daunted by this, then I’ll drive myself insane. It runs in the family, you know, and I’d like to avoid that. So I am cool and calm.”

“I do not know what you can and cannot do. I just think I don’t envy you.” Even if she were capable and born to be a mother, Carol imagined this would change the course of her whole life, which was an unpleasant concept to think about. 

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“I don’t think I would if I were you either,” Georgia said, as close to an admission that she felt bad for herself as she’d put out there. “But who knows? Maybe the baby will be lovely and easy!”

“It’s true. You get the ideal love story, never completed, never ruined,” Carol retorted matter-of-factly, as if popping bubblegum in between his teeth. “But the baby part is… tough. Do you think you’ll be able to manage all this alone?”

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“Of course I will,” Georgia said defensively, not liking that he considered this ideal, even though she herself did take some secret pleasure from the turns of events. “I don’t have a choice. Do you think I can’t?” She didn’t know if she could, really, and wanted to gather other opinions on the matter.

Of course Surya heard about the pregnancy. As much as she preferred to avoid yet another story of a new, crying baby on its way to the Tower, she was always told. This was her first time actually seeing the girl, however. “And here I was thinking I’d put hard work into my garden,” Surya quipped. “How are you feeling? How was the train ride?”

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“Oh, I can’t grow anything at all so I applaud you,” Georgia said. “Although I suppose this is a first, growing a baby.” She wondered what that meant, that she’d never been good at tending a garden and would now have to tend a child. “Bumpy and long as usual. Our tributes are two volunteers, so it’s a bit interesting, at least. We’ll see what happens there.”

“As it happens,” Carol shrugged with grace, not giving a second thought to this girl’s true love. The talk always brought him back to his own problems, to his own corpses. So, for now, he was not quite delivering sympathy. If anything, it felt like a contest to win. “I’m sure you’re better off without him. Men are usually at their peak when they’re dead, I found.”

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Georgia raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit cynical,” she said, though she of course knew, like everyone, Carol’s story with Rio. Still, this was very different. That had been all brutality whereas Wattson had been sweet, soft, at least with her.

Carol flashed his eyebrows at her, trying to come up with a way to react to the visual news of her pregnancy. In the end, he smiled, the corners of his lips spreading awkwardly from one ear to another, overdoing joy. “So you did find true love.” He doubted his own words, but, at worst, he’d have to gently mock the concept for a little, no harm done.

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“Mm, maybe the love between mother and child,” Georgia said, “and perhaps I did find true romantic love as well, but it was fleeting. He’s dead.” She announced it not necessarily with joy — she did not feel joy about this — but she was eager to tell him, eager to hear his sympathy, perhaps even pity, which she wasn’t above desiring.

TASK 002 // SEARCH ENGINE

Her searches:

Emilia’s own hands rested on her belly, the mentor having taken an unceremonious seat on an already occupied couch. “I wish it’d been a bigger couple months for me.” She murmured, more wishing that she had an infant in her arms rather than still crushing all her organs and kicking her ribs at three in the morning. “Do you know what you’re having?”

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Emilia was huge -- and there was no real nice way to say that, so she kept it to herself, even though it was true. She was beautiful, and ready to fucking burst. “I don’t,” she said, “I’m keeping it a secret from myself. Until the day. Or until I can’t wait anymore, I guess. How about you? You must be close.” Emilia was a mother many times over, she must know what to do. Georgia had so, so many questions; ways her own mother had failed, ways she didn’t want herself to fail. “It’s all a bit terrifying, isn’t it?”

Allard glanced at the woman, but was too confused to say anything more as he carefully started to lift up the wine to take a sip. “You think so? Maybe now they’ll phase out the Capitol tributes. Give the Games some semblance of its tradition.”

“G-Good idea. Th-They’ll believe I’m to blame.” He didn’t really know who “they” was or who he would be ratted out to, but trying to get more food wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever done. “R-Really wish buffets were more in style th-than appetizers the size of a th-thumbnail.”

Ama shook her head from where she stood behind the bar. It wasn’t alcoholic, though Ama didn’t know what the difference in taste would be. Still, she would fetch a new drink if that’s what the Capitolite wanted. She passed over the drinks menu, and waited for instructions.

Ash pursed her lips, but proceeded to take a sip. “Yeah, alright, tastes like there’s alcohol in it. It could just be non-alcoholic bitters, but if you’d rather be safe…” She shrugged. “Maybe just get a soda.”

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