Wex Milliner

I— sure, yeah. Why not.

Thanks, by the way. I'm sure dad will appreciate it. Probably will put whatever you write in a bloody frame and show it to all his friends. I only hope he's smart enough to keep it hidden during inspections.

Since you don’t appear to be whining about them, exactly, what is it that interests you? The blood, death, fame, freedom to kill?

Yep, not just brutal, they were also painful and lethal from what I've seen. But I'm pretty sure you're not allowed to hurt me until the Games and, truth be told, I could use some pain. Gotta learn how to deal with it, you know? And breaking free from one of those grapples sounds like a useful skill to have. So... Maybe I wouldn't mind so much if you decided to use one on me. At least I could learn something.

Listen, I know it sounds crazy and all, but... Could you write something nice and give it to me for my family? Nothing too fancy, just something like 'I hope you guys have a great life' or something like that. My dad's... Well, he's kind of a fan of yours. He didn't ask me outright, 'cause there was no time during our goodbyes, but I know for a fact that it'd make him even happier if I came back with a message from you. I mean, he's always talking about you.

But... Of course if it's too weird or anything just ignore me, 'kay?

There was something more in that 'I guess' Finnick added at the end of that sentence, Wex was sure of it, but the other man was way too good when it came to hiding his true feelings. Whatever, maybe Mr. Odair was simply growing bored with the Capitol's way... He had been a Victor and a Mentor for a few years already, and Wex supposed that after a while even those fanciful parties became kinda stale.

"Yeah, we met, but we didn't talk back then. I was kind of hoping to have a few words with you..." Wex hesitated a second before lowering his voice to a mere whisper, as if sharing some big secret. "I mean, to be quite honest I've always seen you kind of like a role model, at least regarding my strategy in the Games. We both know we're good looking, and when you used that to your advantage it worked, no? I was kind of hoping to do the same. Get some Sponsors with a couple of flirty smiles and a wink here and there."

As soon as those words were out of Wex's mouth he regretted them: there was a pretty good chance Finnick didn't really want to remember or talk about his Games, after all. From what Wex saw on TV it wasn't a pleasant experience for anyone, and the Victors were bound to have some scars left from that. And not just physical scars. He offered the man an apologetic smile and a shrug, and was quick to add.

"Mhh but if you win all you do is end up partying. The getting ready bit is important. Don’t blame you, enjoy what you can while you can."

See, that's what I hate about being a Tribute: you never have time to party anymore, it's all about getting ready. Well, that and the impending doom, of course, I'm not a big fan of that either.

Well be careful if you do, too much trouble and you land on Snowe’s radar…and not in the good way. There’s so much food here, sweets galore and meals whenever you want them. It is very different, yes. When my younger brother came, he ate everything in sight and made himself sick but he loved it. I wish everyone had the chance to experience that. If you want more food beyond meal times you can always pull the “But I’m dying…” card, the kitchen staff pities the tributes— but I never told you that.

Snow's a scary dude, I really don't want to grab his attention. But then again, the troublemakers I'm usually after are not the kind that start revolutions, so I think I'm cool.

Back at Eight dinner usually included tasteless canned food from the Capitol and most of the time the can was leaking this disgusting oil that I really don't want to think about. It's really pissing me off to see how they eat here, actually. But hey, it's not like I can do anything to help the people back home, and like you said... I'm dying. So might as well enjoy all the opulence and trap my conscience in a filthy basament in my mind, no?

Sorry, I'm probably talking a little too much. It's just that I don't often get the chance to talk about their Games with Victors. They usually don't wanna think about them. Can't blame them, really. You seem a little more... Open about that topic, so I thought I'd milk this opportunity, you know? Just... Tell me if you don't wanna talk about it.

Of course I do, I’m not that much of a troublemaker. I was implying that perhaps we could head to the kitchen, get a bite to eat or a smoothie of some sort. The man who works in the kitchen is most flexible when it comes to unusual eating hours.

What do you say…Wex- is it?

Awww, too bad, I like troublemakers. But I have to admit, I like eating too, especially those weird fluffy cupcakes they gave me the first day. They were incredible, I swear. We don't have those down at Eight, you know? If the kitchen man can fix me up with one of those every night he just became my new bestie.

Yep, it's Wex. But I don't mind Handsome either, if you feel like it. And since I'm feeling generous I'll let you pick the way I call you. What will it be? Pet? Sweetheart? Love? Doll? I'm open to suggestions, those all feel kind of impersonal and a bit too cliché.

Max was sitting on what it seemed a worktable with a wide choice of objects that did not seemed to have been part of the training room. In fact, they seemed to have been taken from the garden and other places around the facilities.  The objects were from assorted size tree branches to pieces of wires, as well as metallic objects. However, they all had been somehow modified in order to be turned out into weapons.  The pieces of wire were turned into a garrote wire; he seemed to be very creative about how to turn ordinary things into weapons.

Wex didn't want people to realize just how scared he was, he wanted to seem unaffected by the whole thing. His reaping had been like a lightining in the middle of a hot summer day, unexpected and scary, and he still had to find a way to cope. Hence his inability to sleep.

Knowing full well that there was no way he could rest again (Not while he could still hear the screams of the workers trapped in the factory) he decided to visit the training room. Maybe working a sweat would help with his insomnia.

Once there he immediately saw a light near a table full of various items, most of them little more than trash in Wex's eyes. And in front of the table a familiar figure, busy working on something that Wex still couldn't see.

"You can’t sleep either?"

Wex shrugged, doing his best to hide the pained expression still haunting his eyes. "Yeah, too many thoughts on my mind. Guess I'm not the only one, though. You seem to have been at this for quite some time." He shot a quick glance toward the table and moved to grab one of the improvised weapons lying there, the garrote wire. "Not bad, kid, not bad at all. If you use a longer wire you could set up a trap with this, you know: run fast enough against one of these things while they're tied to a couple of trees and you won't even notice your head being cut off from your body."