Can't you hear my heart beat fast [Aya]

It was only a few days into training, and already Arbor had given up hope for his tributes. As a mentor, he had reached the point where he was beyond caring for them, sick of all the children placed in his care being slaughtered by the end of the second or third day. Perhaps it was wrong of him to leave the other two recent victors — the new mother, Aranica, and the oddly secluded, legless Heron — in charge of this year's duo from Twelve, but dumping the tributes on others was nothing new. In fact, he'd basically been doing that since the 57th or 58th Games; it had been years since he'd paid attention to anyone new that was pulled out of Twelve that he could scarcely remember each of their names.

Tribute problems were something that every mentor had to face at some point or another, regardless of district. This year had turned out another sibling of a victor and yet another sibling of a former tribute. Arbor considered himself fortunate to be the youngest in his family by half a decade, which spared him from being this Games' unlucky Mace Emberstatt. And at least his tributes weren't particularly bothersome to their inattentive mentor, not that he was around enough to give them a chance to be. But from what he'd seen and what he'd heard, Arbor knew that he could have been much worse off than he was with them; there seemed to be a few particularly abrasive ones in the bunch this year: and though the boy from eight didn't exactly seem personable, and though the girl from six seemed quite rude, he knew that neither compared to the trouble his old friend from District One was having with her female tribute.

That was why he was out tonight, actually; Topaz had dragged him out to a club, desperately in need of an escape from her wretched tributes. She'd assured him that the venue wasn't much different than the bars that the two friends often frequented, so he'd gone along willingly, eager to get out of the depressing tribute tower. How wrong she'd turned out to be made Arbor feel almost as if he'd been lied to, yet he wasn't about to hunt the redhead down to confront her about it; she'd long since disappeared, drink in hand, into the throng of people that occupied what he supposed was designated as a dance floor. 'Mosh pit' or 'riot' were more accurate descriptors of the mass of bodies that occupied every inch of space between the walls of the dark, loud, smoke-filled room and Arbor was more willing to draw his own name out of the reaping bowls than attempt to navigate that crowd.

So, for awhile, he sulked around the bar, putting away drink after drink just to get into a headspace that resembled comfort with the club scene. He obligingly made smalltalk with a few strange looking Capitolites — something new for the old victor, who spent the better part of his time drinking grouchily avoiding everyone — and even could've sworn he'd spotted the bee man that had paced outside the bar the first time he and Topaz had gone out drinking together. As he paid his tab and prepared to bail, strongly doubting that the person he'd come here with wouldn't be resurfacing from the mess of people for several more hours, a name started infect the crowd, spreading from patron to patron in a wave of excitement: 'Julian! Julian Bryze is here? Julian!'

Immediately, Arbor felt a strange curiosity to see the latest victor, whom he had yet to meet, though he did not envy the attention that the District Two boy's new fame was bringing him. The jaded victor did not miss the swarms of eager Capitolites, being buffeted by such a mob of fervent admirers that it was impossible to move in the desired direction. A twinge of pity directed him toward the group, which had circled around the head of blonde hair in a sort of human cyclone, desperate to say that they'd met the new victor, that they'd gotten to touch him or buy him a drink or dance with him.

Scowling at the rabid Capitol citizens, who appeared to be of the opinion that a victor's fame was contagious, Arbor pushed through the maelstrom. "Bryze," he called, though the music pounded and the air was already filled with shouts of Julian Bryze!; the seasoned victor was drowned out entirely. He cleared his throat and reached out to tap Julian's shoulder with a much louder "Bryze!" but he missed his target and ended up yanking on a lock of Julian's hair instead. This got the younger victor's attention, who wheeled around to punch Arbor — that was the trouble with Careers, particularly when they were drunk; you couldn't get the fighting instinct out of them — but, not being a functioning alcoholic the way the District Twelve was, missed and stumbled forward. The Capitolites echoed the move in a arrhythmic, stumbling sort of dance, causing Arbor to shake his head in exasperation. Those people just did not get it.

"Bryze!" he tried one more time, and, when he was fairly certain that he'd got the younger guy's attention, gestured at the both of them and then pointed in the general direction of the door, offering to save the Capitol's newest piece of meat from the hoards that surrounded them.