red-handed | xov & lucky

l u c k y
nachtnebel

The stares he got when people first noticed the strap of black across the side of his face never ceased to both amaze and frustrate Lucky. At first, it agitated him. He threw the first boy who commented into a locker, but getting into trouble once taught him to be more careful about the revenge he sought. Back-handed compliments, and sometimes straight-up insults to start. The kids who thought Lucky got more fragile learned soon enough that what they perceived as weak, he harnessed into strength. The jokes, stares, and comments dwindled in District Four, but introducing himself to a whole new group of people who knew nothing of him brought up memories of those days.

At least now, he could laugh it off. Most of them didn't mean any harm like the boys and girls back home did. Well, except for maybe Inga and Beck.

Lucky kept smiling through the girl's pause and eventual gratitude. "Were you standing there just to watch me get my ass kicked? Because you just happened to pick the best viewing spot. Or maybe you're just lucky." His eyes beamed toward her, wondering if what she just said was out of well-studied knowledge about her fellow tributes or a freakish form of happenstance.

He shook her hand and introduced herself. How proper this Xov was! Lucky heard from Zell back home that the kids from District Twelve were kind and well-mannered, in great contrast to their former mining rivals in Two. But he was also aware that Twelve had some of the most victors in the past forty years or so. Viciousness was in their blood, and it was in the redness bruising around Xov's knuckles, as well. "Pleasure, Xov. And no, I wasn't watching for too long." He let go of Xov's hand and leaned forward on his tiptoes. "But when your eye's perched this high up, it's hard not to see the spark in someone's swing. I guess you can call me Lucky for that."

Lucky dropped back to his feet, examining the girl's injuries. He could hear the trainer she bested in the background, shouting for an icepack and his sports drink. She didn't look too hurt, which was fortunate considering how intense the trainers he'd seen so far. Could have been worse, certainly. Could have gotten her eye punched in.

He pulled a bottle of water out of his bag and offered it to Xov. "You want this? I only took a couple of sips out of it, so it doesn't have that many germs." Lucky shook the bottle until the liquid spun like a whirlpool inside. "We're sharing a killing arena, I think we can share a few germs." The water settled again a few seconds later. "You could waterfall it, too, I don't mind."

l u c k y
nachtnebel

The intensity with which Xov examined his bottle of water made Lucky happy. Of course, she would suggest, even jokingly, that it was poisoned. The bottle went from almost full to nearly empty in a matter of moments. His hands returned to his backside, counting down midair as if they were on some murder mystery show. Lucky broke the fourth wall within their enclosure often, always aware that the Gamemakers were watching from their bulletproof penthouse. He didn't poison his water, of course, but whether that was because he felt generous or because he hadn't visited the poison station yet remained a mystery to everything outside the cogs of his mind.

Once she was finished with the water, Lucky took it back and buried the jug at the bottom of his bag. He kept an incredibly disorganized inventory. His notes were bent, crinkled, and ripped by the two single-liter bottles, a variety of chips, pens, and the prettiest rocks he could find in the terrain stations. He exaggerated a huff as Xov mentioned the birthday party invitation. It was a painful reminder that he'd climbed twelve flights of stairs to reach District Twelve's floor and practically fell eight more to get back to his. Never again. Lucky swore for his mission that he would not use the elevator to limit suspicion, but even someone of his athleticism found it exhausting.

The look of shock and disappointment was genuine when Xov told him that she was not planning to attend. Everything else she said was gibberish! He should have seen it coming, the fact that District Twelve would be the first to flake and reject his invitation. Lucky swung the drawstring bag around his back and gripped it tight. "Oh."

He shrunk as his knees bent with disappointment, such a huge loss! Lucky couldn't let her get away that easy. "Are you sure? Everyone's going to be there! You've got to come." Even with just a few minutes of interacting with Xov, he had a good read on her ability to fight as well as her lack of confidence. Chickening out on a social event for "training?" The party was in the middle of the night! Who trains at midnight?

"It'd be a bummer if you didn't. Pool parties are really fun! Shit, I'm getting excited just thinking about it!"

He went through ten stages of thought in a matter of seconds. He'd just have to persist. "You know what? No. What do I have to do to convince you?" Prepared to be as cheesily endearing as possible, Lucky dropped to his knees and hands folded toward her. "I'm prepared to beg down here for you to come! Enjoy yourself." He had a flare for the dramatics. How could she say no to a begging boy?

Lucky wanted everyone to enjoy themselves, sure, but it was just like the first day in the dining hall. See how the twenty-four tributes interact in a controlled place.

It's all fun and games until it's not.