cult of dionysus ; arlo & tavi

It takes approximately two days for Tavi to grow bored of the Capitol.

It swarms with the same pathetic people as back home but with a glorified neon backsplash. He's holding his breath to hide lungs full of loathing. But it's okay because he wears that hatred with a smile so it feels lighter where it rests on his cheeks. As far as he's concerned, he was dead the minute he stepped up on that stage. The only reason he won't swan-dive off that platform is he's spiteful enough to try to bring some of these sorry bastards down with him.

How lovely it is to know that all that warmth he was toting around in that chest was just another burden. He's free in this gilded cage, well and truly free. The only time he has left is borrowed, which means he can do whatever the fuck he'd like with it.

And his palms are itching, seeking friction. Lucky for him, his fellow tributes are all packed into the training center like the world's most unappetizing tin of sardines. It shouldn't be hard to find a remedy to idle impulses.

There's a boy about his size and that makes him an easy target. Tavi knows that all too well. He can hardly blame him for taking advantage of the fact that he's looking so vulnerable.

It hurts when he rams his shoulder into Arlo's, and all he can think is how he should have hit him harder.

"Oh! I'm so sorry." His shoulders are all bones where Tavi runs his hands across them, trailing down under the guise of fixing his mistake and slipping a hand into his pocket to take whatever purchase his fingers find. Clumsy because he doesn't much care if he gets caught. "You're so unremarkable, I didn't even see you standing there. Good strategy for the arena, keep it up!"

There's no love left in Tavi. All that's left is to hurt and be hurt in return.