#katneiss

“ well, well, girl on fire . . . ”    he cocks his head to the side, his grin full of more mania and drugged-up haze of pleasure and happiness than is healthy or natural for anyone.  he sways a bit on his way to her perch on one of the couches in the victors’ lounge.  gloss is asleep on one of the nearby chairs, stinking of cologne and sweat, and cashmere is touching up her makeup in the bathroom.  he looks around sloppily before grabbing up one of the drinks on the coffee table  —  wouldn’t it be funny if it bothered him to share with others?  he almost laughs again to himself  —  and downing it.    “ are you having a lovely evening?  where’s your fiancee? ” 

[      *    ft.   melnchly      ] 

he sits beside her.  they give them some time before they cue for finnick to start speaking for this particular propo  —  this one that’s got him cold all over, sweating at the same time, shaking like a leaf as he tries to piece back whatever remains of that old finnick odair mask that could take and do and smile through any and everything.  she notices  —  clearly she notices, though she doesn’t know like haymitch, who still looks like he wishes he could talk finnick out of what plutarch pushes him into.  he rubs his hands on his pants, both for just something to do and for something to do for the sweat and the nerves.  he looks at katniss.  she’s so fucking young, but by now she’s older than him when . . .    “ just stay next to me, okay?  and don’t say anything.  and don’t look at me until i’m finished.  and don’t ask me questions when it’s over. ” 

“ so am i! ”    she has seen him angrier than most, their days together spent most often than not in the place where he can be angry  —  the only place.  they aren’t there now, though.  they’re just behind the hob, and it feels like they’re just barely keeping the other from charging away and towards the anger;  they’re doing it badly.    “ we can be angry with each other, but we’ve gotta talk to each other, katniss! ”    the desperation fronts as anger.  don’t shut me out, is the subtext of it all;  don’t push and push until i lose you!    “ talk to me!  what’s going on?  i know there’s something more than what you’re saying, alright  —  i know you! ”    he has to  —  he has to still know her . . . 

“ oh, yes.  that’s all i hear about you. ”    he leans against her carriage, shifting where that netting they’ve tied and wrapped ‘round his waist falls a little lower;  that’s not what his stylist will worry about, anyway.  trixxy will only worry if the netting isn’t low enough.    “ you’re a very well-behaved little girl, aren’t you?  even without those pretty dresses . . . ”    he grins, popping another sugar cube into his mouth, slowly and intentionally, winking at the girl on fire. 

he hefts his hunting bag up on his shoulder.  he tries to just ignore her during most of this sunday morning, while she pokes and prods and asks questions he won’t and can’t answer;  but there is only so long gale can hold his tongue.  what’s the deal with you?  is she kidding?!  he whirls on her then.    “ maybe just think for a minute, and you can work that out!  i don’t want your damn blood money, katniss, no matter how much you think my family needs it.  i’ll take care of them  —  i will!  not you. ”    and certainly not the damn capitol. 

he doesn’t look up from the snare he’s setting, but he does smirk.    “ if you stop saying stupid stuff, maybe i won’t need to interrupt and correct you so much. ”    he likes to tease her.  katniss is so serious  —  more serious than him, even when they’re out in the woods;  though at least she smiles out here  —  that it’s fun to watch her get irritated with his jokes sometimes.  he dusts off his hands on his pants as he stands up, towering over her again.  he raises his eyebrows.    “ besides:  i can’t control when i need to give my opinion on something, especially when i’m right. ” 

[      *    ft.   katneiss      ]