Cashmere Dior

ACCEPTED - District 1 Victor

"And you're Alana Fisker, District Four." She had watched all the reapings to get a clue in on the tributes this year. She'd go bother Finnick later to get more intel, if he'd give her any.

"Sorry, I just... I didn't expect to meet you." She said softly.

He knew the first question was rhetorical, so he waited for the inevitable follow up. When she asked, all of his planning went out the window. This was his mentor, one of the only people who was basically contractually obligated to help him. Maybe she wouldn't be rooting for him (she was from District 1 after all), but she wouldn't put her career as a mentor on the line just to screw him over.

Right?

So, he figured the best thing he could do in this moment is be honest.

"This... this wasn't a spur of the moment decision," he started, rubbing his hands together anxiously as he tried to balance between looking her in the eyes to show he was serious and looking at the floor for his own comfort. "I've been thinking it over ever since I was told I wasn't the choice, which... yeah, been about a year now."

He sighed before he continued. "You've met my teachers, ask any of them; no one can beat me if I get my hands on a longsword. Literally no one in that arena has a chance if I do. But... yeah, I'm fully aware there's no guarantee that I'll get one, but I'm not total shit at other weapons, like what's wrong with having a specialty? I was even better than Halcyon before he made it into the arena, and people still fucking loved him."

Halcyon's death was only during the 73rd games; she probably remembered him. Brilliant, charming, good at every weapon he got his hands on, but Silver at 16 could still beat him sparring, so didn't that say something about Silver? Shouldn't that have given him some credibility?

"I just... this was my last chance, alright? What was I going to do with my life if I didn't compete? All I know is how to be a warrior, and a fucking good one. And I hate kids, so teaching is off the table."

He took a step forward towards her and met her eyes and didn't let them go; he was going to make this point as clear as possible. "I will do everything possible to win. I'll do everything you tell me to do. I may be a warrior, but I've never gotten a chance to prove it and you did and came out the other side, so you know more than me. Fuck, I'll hang off of every word you say if it'll help you be more confident in my abilities, just..."

He trailed off as he took a seat in his chair before sighing again. His voice was quieter as he continued. "No one said goodbye to me. Not what few friends I have, not my parents, no one. So I know I'm ultimately alone in my belief in me, but... I hope maybe I have one mentor who's willing to give me their guidance. Because if I really am as unprepared as they said, well... my only shot is going to be listening to you guys and somehow getting sponsors to like me."

It was at that point that he looked up and waited for a response to his little monologue; he hoped his sincerity was showing.

Having a specialty wasn't unheard of, but also still being good enough at the other weapons was a necessary requirements. And she did remember Halcyon. He had been one that was excellent at anything put before him. Even if Silver could best him with a long sword, that didn't mean much to Cashmere when there was no promise of a long sword. And if the boy was as cocky as he was about the long sword int he Capitol as he seemed to be with her, well she knew the Gamemakers could just decide not to put one in the cornucopia just to mess with him.

She sighed slightly as he stepped away and retook his seat only to reveal no one had come to say goodbye to him. She'd been there. Gloss had been too. Their parents didn't believe in affection or really any emotion, making she and Gloss the only thing the other had.

"You don't need your parents and your friends, Silver. Fuck if Gloss and I believe in your either." She shrugged. "You need to believe in yourself and you've certainly got that down it appears. I don't blame anyone back home for being pissed with you. I was eighteen when I volunteered," it was common knowledge, "I would have been livid if someone took that chance from me. You weren't the only eighteen year old that wanted to volunteer but wasn't picked. You are however the one who took that chance from another person who won't have another chance next year because he'll be ninteen."

"You have a mentor that might vouch for you." She admitted, moving to take a seat across from him. "But if I say jump, you better ask how far and how high. If you don't, you'll be stuck with Gloss and kid... he's angry and already counting you out." She might be able to change that, might be. But right now she was leaving him be. "I only need one tribute to put on a good show and to have my support in that arena and well, she's already got it. I like your guts, but I don't need you."

Pike nodded again, her smile fading in embarrassment. "Y-yeah, um... not my finest moment," she said, trying to be jokingly and likably self-deprecating. Her lack of physical skills and killer instinct were going to be no help in the arena; her only hope now was to be as likable as possible.

Which, for her, was not going to be easy.

"You're from One, right?" she asked, trying to make light conversation. "So you were, like, trained for this and everything?"

"I am." She gave a nod, suppressing the look of slight surprise on her face. She supposed Three was a high enough district that they kept up with some things because Cashmere was not naive enough to think that she was a fresh spring chicken when it came to the Victors. She'd won nearly a decade ago and yet the girl knew her name and her district. It was impressive. "And yes I was. Both my brother and I. We started training when we were... twelve." Though that was a lie. They'd begun training long before that, but the rules were what they were even if One, Two and Four got away with breaking them. She'd just never admit as such in the Capitol.

"It definitely makes a difference, but there's always the years when the underdogs take the crown." She shrugged.

Wow, she's even more beautiful in person.

"O-oh, thank you," she said genuinely before her eyes somehow got bigger. Cashmere knew her name? It took her a second to realize of course she did; she probably watched that disaster of a Reaping.

Well, at least I'm memorable?

"Yeah, um... that's me!" she said, trying to appear cheerful, or at least not constantly thinking about her upcoming demise. "You, uh... y-you saw the Reaping, I take it?"

Silver was pacing back and forth in the train car, trying to think of the words he was going to use to explain himself. He knew the first question out of his mentor's mouth would probably be "What the hell were you thinking?" so he was figuring out his exact answer.

"I did what was best for the District?" No, too arrogant. "I was thinking I could succeed where my brother failed?" Would that be seen as disrespectful to the dead? I mean, he did lose...

He didn't have more time to think before the door to the train car opened and his mentor entered.

It'd been in the Justice Building that she and Gloss stole away to the hot upper level where they'd long since learned there were no cameras. Storage where whispers could be shared without Snow himself watching. They'd been heated whispers this time. Gloss had chosen the boy who was supposed to volunteer, written his name on a little slip of paper, just as every other victor in the district. There was no chance anyone but the chosen boy would be headed to the game. At least not until this little shit decided to steal the chance when it wasn't his chance to steal. But Gloss had been the one to choose within the Academy and so Cashmere had talked her brother down, told him she'd deal with Silver and come find him later.

So that was what she was doing. She'd made sure Gloss was on the other end of the train and then went in search of the boy. When she finally found him, she paused in the doorway of the train car before shutting it. Thankfully he was alone. It seemed the girl had made herself scarce. Cashmere would find her later.

"Are you out of your everliving, fucking mind?" She demanded. She might've talked Gloss down from killing the boy, but they fed off of one another, always feeling what the other felt. Twins were like that. And Gloss was still pissed. "What in the world were you thinking?" He had guts, she'd give him that. Everyone in One hated him now. No one would mourn him if he lost.

But when Cashmere said she could stay, she melted a bit. Some of the apprehension that settled between her shoulders dispersed. She could breathe a little easier.

She scooted to the edge of the bed and reached to the zipper, pulling it down carefully. As she did so though, she frowned, her fingers tracing over the outline of what appeared to be a bruise on Cash's shoulder. "Cashy..." She murmured, brows knitting together. "I'll fucking kill him. Who was it?" She demanded, anger flaring back into place. It wasn't the first time she'd threatened to kill a sponsor, and she knew he was a sponsor, whoever he was.

An ochre hand was quick to clamp over tawny hued lips. "Shut up, Arachne." She didn't often use the other woman's actual name, preferring the nickname that only she got to call her. "You know they are always listening." It was said barely above a whisper as she leaned in close to Arachne. Even in the seeming privacy of her room, anything they did or said was being watched. "If you want any chance of bringing Lazarus home alive, then you shut up." It was a warning for what she knew would very well happen if Arachne kept it up. Lazarus would fall victim to some Gamemaker stunt.

"No way," she spoke, words dripping with honey, "you're Cashmere. Like... that Cashmere."

"And you're Alana Fisker, District Four." She had watched all the reapings to get a clue in on the tributes this year. She'd go bother Finnick later to get more intel, if he'd give her any.

So it was very embarrassing that she basically walked into the Capitol building and got lost immediately.

Nothing here looked familiar except for the televisions on the walls, and those were no help to finding where her escort ran off to. There seemed to be some soap opera on one of them, which couldn't hold Pike's attention for very long; she had too much on her mind. She kept walking around, trying to pretend like she knew where she was going and definitely not just wandering and hoping for the best. Nope. Absolutely not.

After... well, she wasn't sure how long, time was an illusion to her ever since her name was called, she decided that asking for help would be better than getting completely lost and wandering into some restricted area and getting in trouble; she didn't want to make any enemies when her life was about to be in a lot of these people's hands.

She approached the next person she saw, their back to her so she couldn't know who it was.

"E-Excuse me," she greeted, annoyed that she was already stuttering; her nervous habit that she had been trying to break since she was little. "I'm um... I'm so sorry, I'm... really lost, do you know how to get to the District Three area?"

Thankfully, in all the renovations over the last year, they hadn't gotten rid of the coffee shop on the lobby floor of the Tribute Tower and she'd managed to secure herself an extra-large latte with an extra shot of expresso. She was leaning against a table in the lobby watching the Flickerman family's first impressions of the tributes. It took much for her to not roll her eyes at their antics.

She was in the middle of a sip of her coffee when she heard someone behind her. Cashmere turned to see who was talking and offered a small smile. "Of course. They didn't change that at least with the renovations. Each district has their own floor. So, find the elevators and you'll find you're way there. I can show you."

Cashmere looked the girl up and down. "You're Pike right?" She'd watched all the reapings before even stepping foot in the Capitol.

Arachne didn't want to be here. Not with Cato. Not with Eddie. Not with anyone. Clove had died the year before. She'd had to go on Cato's victory tour with him. She was over it. And if that wasn't enough. Justice wouldn't leave her alone.

She couldn't be on the second floor, just couldn't deal with the familiarity, the memories, the haunting of everything from the past. She'd already shed the stupidly girly dress her stylist had forced her into for the reaping - since when did she wear pink? - and pulled on a familiar flannel that hung big enough on her frame to almost be a dress. Before Eddie could stop her, she'd disappeared from the second floor and made herself at home on District One's floor - specifically behind the closed door of Cashmere's bedroom.

Arachne had helped herself to a platter of strawberries and a bottle of wine undoubtedly left out for One's team in the lobby, glaring at an avox who looked as if he might try to stop her. Now she laid across Cashmere's bed with what remained of the strawberries beside her and the half empty bottle of wine on the other woman's nightstand, a glass of the red liquid in hand.

The sound of the door opening didn't phase her. Green hues merely swept up to meet brown. "Can I sleep here tonight?" She asked instead of greeting Cashmere. It wasn't even afternoon yet.

However, when she entered her room, she found she wasn't alone. Most people would've gotten yelled at, at the very least for just taking up residence in her room. Ara was another story. She sighed softly, reaching behind herself to shut the door behind her, locking it as well. "Don't you have tributes to mentor?" She questioned. Her fingers moved around to the back of her own neck, unclasping the necklace there and tossing it to the top of her dresser. Her earrings were the next to go. Then the rings around her fingers. And finally the bracelets. With each piece, she deflated a little more.

"I don't care. You know that, Ara. I need a shower before I can be any company though." She kicked out of her heels and moved towards the bed. "If you're gonna take over my room, at least unzip me?" She turned her back to her friend, pulling her hair around her shoulders.