maysilee donner [ @raygilee ] β wyatt callow .. looks like we're stuck together. π¬
wyatt doesn't answer right away. dust motes sailed in the still air, the hangings-on of home as the visuals of the Seam drifted out of view and darkness engulfed the horizon. it felt as though it had been night for hours, the dreadful dinner sequence between maysilee and drusilla sickle feeling something like a distant memory. just another horror of the day. wyatt rolls a coin between his knuckles, the sickly yellow light of the train car bouncing off the metal tirelessly. the reflection flickered across the affluence, the disgusting luxury of their surroundings β the silks and velvet that did little to soften the jagged shape that awaited them in the capitol. stuck together, he cannot help but scoff. it's an extension of friendship he supposed, or perhaps: allyship. louella and haymitch had certainly found their refuge, and the two that remained were merely the afterthought. he didn't mind. perhaps the less friends you have here, the better. and perhaps that's why 'stuck' feels so strange a sentiment. for how long would they be stuck? his fingers close around the coin after a long moment, knuckles blanching with the strain. his eyes stay fixed to the window, looking at the hollow image of self reflected back to him in the dim light. how funny, how much a march towards death can change a person, despite the real test having not yet begun. βstuck together..β wyatt repeats, but it sounds withered, as though he cannot quite find the solace in her offering of solidarity. two animals caught in the same trap. he finally drags his gaze away from the window, drawing a passive line over the welts on her face, fighting some suffocated instinct to tend and to touch. he's not sure maysilee would like that too much: the vulnerability of it. βmakes it sound like we're the last two people at the dance.β
