87 Pounds (and) This All Bears Repeating [Kev/WT]

ooc- what. the. hell. are. you. doing. Arbor. I'm... just... I'm sorry, I don't even...

Four times is once too much for luck,
and that's how many times the clock struck.
I wandered home, saying your name.

Arbor Halt—

Somehow, despite the fact that he was no longer doing this whole mentoring thing completely alone, Arbor had a strong feeling that he was going to have to step up and take even more responsibility as a mentor than he did the previous year. He'd look out for both tributes, as he had done the previous year. But something told him that he'd have a third tribute, in a way — the one left over from last year.

Arbor glanced up from the heavy eye contact he'd been making with his shrimp and cream sauce. It was a situation whose awkwardness was unprecedented for the older victor, and he didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to do. He never had been particularly tactful, and never included himself in other peoples' business unless explicitly invited. And really, he had nothing to say. He ought to be giving Anani some advice, shouldn't he?

But the seventeen-year-old had nothing to say. What advice could he give? He hadn't exactly become victor by being the strongest or the biggest, and was certainly not close to the most physically capable of them. Had it all just been luck? Was there no other reason for why he sat at the table now? No, it couldn't be — there was some strategy involved. Wasn't there? Something he could say, maybe — anything in terms of advice, or even just something to break his several-day-long reluctance to speak.

He did feel as though the distance he'd created for his own comfort was keeping him from doing his job properly. He was supposed to do everything in his power to bring home another victor from Twelve — a third in a row. And he wanted to. He needed to, for Ara's sake, because he felt like he owed her for something, like he needed to look out for her — there was something about the girl, Arbor realized, that was so easy to feel protective of. He could hardly blame Anani for coming back like he did, and maybe it wasn't too fair for the victor boy to feel the sense of mistrust he did for the tribute.

If there had been much of a conversation at the table between the brother and sister — this, Arbor doubted very much — he hadn't been paying any attention to it. He meant to say something, because he should, but his whole body rebelled against the very idea of it. His throat formed a knot large enough to keep him from swallowing his mouthful of shrimp, his vocal cords refused to make an actual pitch. Even after the obstruction had been cleared, Arbor's tongue felt awkward in his mouth — what syllables, in what order, and how to make them?

Having not bothered to attain the dining etiquette that was appropriate for the Capitol (and, in all honesty, not caring,) Arbor wiped the thin line of sauce off of his lip with the back of his hand and smeared that on the pristine tablecloth. He subconscious had hoped it would stain, but knew the Capitol could afford to replace whatever he damaged. If he could do anything to the material, that is, which seemed unlikely; most of the fabric here was nigh-on indestructible.

When he finished, he returned his gaze to eye-level. Arbor opened his mouth to speak, but the words refused to come out once more; there was nothing he could even think to say. After a few brief moments of this vacant expression, the older victor thought to close it again, biting his lip as his eyes tried to convey what he couldn't say out loud: I'm sorry this is happening. I know it's awful, but there's nothing I can do to help.

For a split second, Arbor genuinely wondered why that was. It was awful that the tributes were all going to die save for one. Period, the end. Awful. So why should it be any more awful for Anani to die? Because he had a sister? Lots of tributes had siblings. Lots of tributes had people waiting for them at home. And it suddenly struck Arbor that he'd never known much about the families of his fellow competitors from two years ago (had it only been two years? It felt like he was twenty years older than he had been when he'd won.)

It seemed rude to their memories for Arbor to have not known if his allies had siblings, if their boyfriends or girlfriends back at home would hate Arbor the way Arbor couldn't help hating the guy from District 6 that had killed Shaw when he'd been forced into the Arena. Arbor's blood boiled (in the most hypocritical manner) when he thought of it — the sadness had transmuted into anger and a desire for vengeance that Arbor would never fulfill. But maybe the guy from Six had had someone of his own, too, someone who cheered as he made it closer to the top, someone who wept as he ultimately bled out. Was it fair of Arbor to think any differently of Shaw than any other tribute? Was it fair for him to feel worse for the Petros' situation than any other big brother?

Yes, he decided. Yes it was fair. Because Arbor knew them. Arbor liked Aranica a great deal, and he loved Shaw, and he was even starting to warm up to Anani a bit just being in the vicinity of him and his sister at the same time. It wasn't self-centered of him to root for the people he knew, the people whose lives had any bearing on his own. It couldn't be. And maybe it was selfish to wish death upon twenty-three other teenagers, just so one guy could come home to his little sister who'd basically lost everyone in the world. Maybe it was wrong that more of his effort would be directed at keeping Anani alive than his female counterpart, the deaf girl. But the world never justified itself to Arbor, so why should he have to justify anything at all?

With that long, convoluted procession of thoughts, Arbor finally managed to come up with something to say. "Allies," he started, needing to clear his throat again. He looked directly at the only one at the table who had not been in the Arena. With a pang, the voices of his allies resurfaced in his brain, followed by the grainy faces of those who'd banded together with the younger victor. Painful. Necessary.

"You need allies; you won't get far with out them." How many times would he have died if not for Archer leading him away from the bloodbath, Zinnia covering his blind spot (ha) in combat, or without Ailia taking out the enemies who'd targeted him? On what day would Ara have died without Dru? "So you'll need a few. Careers, probably, if you can manage it. Tell them you'll be good for sponsor money."

There was no doubt in Arbor's mind that the boy would be, if for no other reason than his sister. The Capitol had packed about as much tragedy as possible into last year's victor, and its bleeding-heart citizens couldn't wait to feel bad for someone new year after year, Ara more than the others. (Of course, they never managed to feel bad enough, Arbor remarked disdainfully in his head.)

"And I'm positive that you will be."