black sheep.

Ren was still alive, but Harlow's stomach was still in knots after what happened with Collier. It wasn't like she could avoid it forever: Ren killed their ally in The Games. For a moment, when the knife sunk into Collier's stomach, Harlow was reminded of when she had killed Thistle in her own Games. A boy she had once considered a friend when they were little. She took a drink from her glass at the bar. She had been on the Seventh floor since that moment, only emerging when she was sure she wasn't going to get much sleep that night. She wasn't surprised when someone else joined her at the bar. "Can't sleep, either?" she murmured, resting her chin in her hand.

"I'll sleep when I get back to Eight," Ramona shrugged, resigned as ever. It was hard to sleep in the Capitol no matter how comfortable they made the beds. She'd gotten used to sleeping with eye open knowing that they were probably watching her every move. At least it was easier to pretend they didn't exist back in her district. Thankfully, she didn't have to look over a tribute anymore—unlike Harlow. The suspense must have been killing her knowing how far Ren had come. No wonder she couldn't sleep. "Can't stay up all night, you know. It won't do either for you any good."

He thought when he woke up this morning that he was feeling the worst he might have ever felt in his life, but it was noon now, and he was even worse. He’d tried to eat, and after that, he couldn’t stomach the empty contents of his stomach, so he found himself outside of the tower building, throwing up into a fake plant. “I’m— I’m so sorry” he apologised, because he hadn’t realised anybody else had been around in all the chaos before. “I’m disgusting, I’m sorry”

Even though Ramona hadn't known Rush all that much, she wasn't at all surprised to see the guy hungover from the night before. She always thought that nice people didn't handle their liquor very well. Maybe that was why she felt completely fine after raiding the bar when nobody was looking. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that thing dying," she assured him as she patted Rush's back. "You'll be fine. At least, you know, until the next ball."

Gideon was outside, having a cigarette in the decorated outdoor space. It was quieter than with the music blasting over the speakers inside, but he knew he would have to go back in and talk to some more Sponsors. The quiet was why he had gone out to talk with one of them, but he lingered to have a smoke before heading back in. The sound of footsteps alerted him to someone else approaching and he glanced back over his shoulder. "Need a breather?" he asked, glancing toward the cigarette between his fingers, "this probably won't help with that. I can put it out."

After dodging sponsors the entire night, Ramona was desperate for a moment of peace. Her tributes were already dead—what did they need her for if not to stroke their egos? They'd have to take her out kicking and screaming if they thought she was going to play along with any of that. Instead, she joined Gideon outside and prayed that nobody followed. "It's fine. The perfume in there is worse," she answered with a shrug. "If I hear about how good Bobbi looks one more time, I'm going to lose it. I'm hoping I can hide out here long enough to avoid them."

The faux fur coat had him a little sweaty, but he didn't want to take it off, because it would ruin the look, so he took to downing ice cold cocktails instead, saw that as a fitting alternative.

Ramona scoffed at the group hovering around the station, blind to the fact that the Games were still going on. These were the people he had to stick up to? The ones who tied up a kid from her district like some sort of sick joke? "They're probably laughing about it. Nice to see you enjoying the drinks though, Abel," she said sarcastically as she aired out the collar of her own fur coat.

"The Boxcar or the Tiebreaker?" Medea mused, eyes narrowing as she studied the drink menu. "They both sound great, I can't decide." She glanced over at the woman next to her. "Which one would you pick?"

"Let's get both," she suggested, already calling someone over to order. As much as the thought of spending any amount of time with Medea Odair made Ramona want to roll her eyes, she was not getting through the night sober. "I heard you're stuck with Miller. I mean, we might as well get you everything off the menu."

Somehow Wattson had ended up with a ball date. Really, he couldn't really remember how it had happened but either way, he was actually really happy about it. This was his first ever Mentor's Ball and the only ever ball he had been to was his own Victor's Ball. He was worried that being in the same sort of atmosphere would bring back those dark and anxious feelings he had felt at the last ball. But this time, he would have a distraction and would make the most out of the night. "You look amazing." He told Ramona, gesturing to her outfit. "And it looks like your stylist didn't go too crazy, which I feel is a plus." He had heard horror stories of some the ball outfits. Almost just on queue, someone with a very unfortunate outfit had walked by. "I mean, imagine being put in an outfit like that?" He said with a lowered voice.

The alcohol and far-too heavy coat was not doing Ramona any favours. But even though she thought they looked ridiculous in their matching outfits, it was nothing compared to the other couples at the ball. It was easy to get lost in the crowd with people dressed as cakes and birds. Then again, she was more than happy to fly under the radar this time around. With tensions still high after yet another tribute death, Ramona thought it best to ignore just about everyone else and poke fun at the rest of them with Wattson. "A snake? Seriously? How much do you want to bet that it'll end up in someone's wig later?" With a small laugh, she nudged her head over to the mentor with the giant head piece. "At least we don't have to pretend to enjoy ourselves at these things anymore. Do you remember how bad your Victor's Ball was? Mine was fucking torture."

Rush didn't know the meaning of the word morbid, but it sounded bad, so he didn't question it any further. "I think we should go to camp together" he nodded in agreement. "Not the arena camp, a nice one, where we won't have to die"

Ramona rarely smiled, but she couldn't help the one slowly forming on her face at Rush's suggestion. She didn't have many friends and it surprised her that she somehow found one in him. "I heard Two's nice, you know, with all the mountains. I bet Seven has some nice spots too," she said, running through her ideas. "We can even go to Eleven. You know, anywhere that's not the arena is fine with me."

The almond hit him square on the temple. When he saw it was Ramona, his shoulders relaxed, and he even scooted over to give her room on the couch. The question caught him off guard, but it was better to hear coming from her than many others. At least he knew Ramona was not being malicious about it. She never was. And despite the 'asshole's and 'dickface's and 'douchefart's, despite her endlessly colourful reproach to his playful flirtations, she had become one of the few in the tower whom he trusted.

Ramona narrowed her eyes before punching him square in the shoulder. Friendly enough, but she was sure that it would leave a fresh bruise in the morning. A few more and maybe Miller would stop trying to fuck with her or, at the very least, break down those walls he was so intent on keeping up. She had no reason to trust the guy, Career that he was, but she still did against her better instincts. A part of her felt the tiniest bit embarrassed that the feeling wasn't mutual.

"The arena," she clarified. "Harder to tell with the tributes, but they're usually tryin' to kill you too." Only one got out, so eventually it was every man for himself, alliances or not. "It would be nice every once in a while," she agreed. It was exhausting to lose over and over again with no end in sight. "Yeah, it's either they hate you or they feel bad for you, which is even worse." Greer could handle people hating her, but she couldn't stand them pitying her.

At that, Ramona took another drink before pushing her glass away. Having been a source of pride for her district to being the person people blamed whenever their kid failed to make it home was something they really should have prepared her for as a mentor. Then again, she didn't think Bobbi had anything worth teaching especially when it came to being a decent Victor. "The great thing is that we have to do this for the rest of our lives. Remind me to put in a reservation for these seats when the next Games come around."

"A walk in the park might be overselling it a little," Cain suggested. "Conny's face did just get sliced in half," he reminded her. "But yeah, I hear you." Cain wasn't going to deny that districts like Two were in a better position than many of the others, he wasn't that deluded. It was a system that worked, that made Panem stronger, but that didn't mean it was always fair. "We've got the training to back up our big mouths," he laughed. "But plenty of Careers have died underestimating outer district tributes. They're scrappy, so you never know."

Ramona winced at the mention of Conny's injury. Seeing it played out on screen, no matter how many times she'd watched or the fact that she'd been through it herself, was still hard to stomach. A part of her thought that she may have felt a twisted sense of satisfaction seeing a kid from a Career district knocked down a peg, but nothing about it felt right. "As if it matters. Your families can practically buy their way into getting a Victor, Cain. The Cannons, the Bricks, the Gunns? Maybe the rest of us have a better of shot of winning if daddy wasn't so afraid of you guys getting an ouchie."

Mason laughed before nodding his head, agreeing with her. "Yeah, you're honestly probably right about that." Which was used to, Mason had been clumsy his whole life. He was the child who walked around with tons of band-aids on his legs from falling so much. When she began to help him clean up the papers, he gave her a smile and thanked her. Then he laughed at the next thing she had said. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. He is pretty cool, though." He agreed. "I haven't ran into him yet. I think I may be avoiding him a little." He admitted to her.

Sure, Ramona had made it a habit to avoid Miller on some days, but his own brother? As much as she wanted to pry, she offered a half-hearted smile instead. Family matters were hard enough without strangers poking into your business. "Miller's an asshole and I've told him just as much," she reassured him. "If I see him, I'll let him know that you're staying busy but you can't avoid him forever. I mean, you're an escort, right? You're going to be spending a lot more time with him. Shouldn't you, I don't know, talk things over?"

It had been a long day: The Bloodbath. Somehow, miraculously, both of her Tributes had survived the opening salvos. They were running off somewhere into the horror of Camp Nightlock. She had managed to lower the volume of the TV in the District Eight lounge enough so that she could focus on the intricate designs splayed out on the table in front of her.

Classic Bobbi. She was just as talented in designing clothes as she was slapping Ramona in the face. The worst part was that she was right—she owed her life to somebody she despised. Now she had to return the favour. If by some miracle Ramona was able to bring home a tribute, she would never expect such a thing from them. But, coming from Eight where things are not freely given, Ramona was taught the importance of paying it forward. Unfortunately, this was a debt that she had to pay back tenfold.