If you die, and I live, I'd have nothing

Snow paused, reflecting on this. “My boy, tell me, what defines a child? An adolescent?”

“Someone innocent.”

“And what? send what little allies I have to get killed doing it instead? That’s not me Mellark. My allies aren’t expendable but Iam, plus I’m probably the quietest in the arena.”

“That’s suicide, Aria. I bet you that there’s no way that that the captiol would even allow that.”

“No? I’ll take that as a compliment. Not all Victors are in the spotlight all the time, like Finnick or you and Katniss. I appear, and am showcased in everyday conversations, and before and after huge parties, or events like this.” She gestured around. Doing her best work behind the scenes, quiet and unobserved. He was more than just a bread boy, but she couldn’t exactly say that. “Oh Peeta, you are more than that. I heard that you’re a wonderful painter, and have such a way with words.”

Ducking his head with a small smile, he shrugged a shoulder. “I guess you could say that. Cesar seemed to liked me.” He honestly said, not even knowingg how humble he was. “I did see you training though. You’re not half bad.”

“We’re in the biggest most deadly event in the history of the games. Sooner or later there’s gonna be a free for all if I wanna make it to at least the top five in gonna need to know weak spots.” She shrugged “plus I was bored.”

“True. But don’t you think it’s a little but too... overeager to go after them yourself?”

Olesya laughed, pleased with his question. She gave her knife another twirl and returned it to the belt. She’d be able to draw it quickly if the need arose. Being a Victor meant quick reflexes, that and years of practice. “I’m a dressmaker by trade, and so it’s it my job to take note of and execute the tiniest of details. Secondly, I’m an avid watcher of people, when not busy with Capitolites. It keeps my mind busy, and lucid.”

“A dressmaker? Really? I wouldn’t take you for a dressmaker.” Peeta laughed softly, a smile on his lips. He kept his eyes on her knife, the precise twirls that she was doing and had to admit, he was impressed. “That’s pretty cool, honestly. I’m nothing more than a bread boy. 

“It’s not forgetting, my boy, but rather not lingering too long on such thoughts. After all, death is a necessity in life, one cannot avoid it completely.”

“True, but not caused by one of our hands, especially by kids.”

Allies, yes it had come to that again. She smiled softly. “Finnick and Beetee and Annie. You and Katniss could be, if you like.” She watched as he looked for her weapon of choice. Not like anything could be hidden in their fitted wet suits. A calculated glint entered her eye as she took a knife out of her belt and twirled it around. “Never liked swords, prefer knives. More of a variety. You’re strong, steady handed, steadfast, and anchored.”

Raising am eyebrow, he kept in mind that she could be lying but she looked and from what he remembered, was trustful. He nodded his head slowly before glancing down at her knife. “How did you learn to figure out that about a person based by a weapon?”

“Well bread boy you’ve really got yourself in a pickle here.” She dropped down beside him. She noticed he was alone and raised her eyebrow, leaning against the tree as of she had all the time on the world, “your travelling abit light aren’t you? No companions anymore?”

“Don’t call me that.” He grumbled, watching her as he swatted a bug away, wincing as it’s pincer got his palm. Hissing, he shook his hand a few times before glancing behind him. “How do you keep finding me? And no, I went to find some food.”

“I find everyone and thing. You just happened to look like something of interest when I was tracking the careers.”

“Why were you tracking them?”

“You seem hesitant.” Snow drummed his fingers lightly upon his puffy lips. “Tell me what’s on your mind,” Snow attempted to reel the boy’s speech in like a feisty fish.

“No, sir. It’s just…” Well, what could he possibly say? “Even though I was in the games, even after everything that happened, I can’t say I’m used to death.”

“No one gets used to death, Mr. Mellark,” Snow told the boy. Those fallen politicians sometimes still haunted his dreams at night, but he wasn’t going to inform the boy of his personal experience with death, naturally. “We just simply become more in tune with life, in hope of avoiding thinking about the sadder parts of our timeline.”

“How? How can you forget? Just...forget things like that?’