std::cin >> query; {patricia/arthur}{VT}
Jan 12, 2015 22:49:11 GMT -5
Post by shrimp on Jan 12, 2015 22:49:11 GMT -5
Too much time, or perhaps not enough of it, has made him dangerous.
It's been a week since Galaxy escaped into the air and now today her murderer disembarks from her bullet-train riddled with all things Capitol and luxury and everything that screams that "your daughter deserved to die, and there's nothing you can do to say otherwise." Perhaps he understands that truly it's not Patricia's fault, but that doesn't mean he wants to see her. Ever. Isn't it enough that he watches her sit on that throne while she watches his daughter, stuck underground and vainly trying to resuscitate, to heal, to survive.
She was always too bright for a place so dark. He supposes both of them were.
Peacekeepers have to burst through his office door before he allows himself to be whisked to the ceremony on the College steps. He's led to a platform, told to step up and listen to the Victor, the champion. But Patricia Valfierno isn't the Victor, any scientist can deduce that much. He knew this much the last time he said goodbye to Galaxy, when her heart was still beating and her lungs still heaving. While Valfierno speaks, he stares ahead, knowing that her words will not reach his ears. Her hair's almost the exact same shade as Galaxy's. That's all he focuses on.
After the ceremony's there's a dinner in the College that's been highly suggested to him that he should attend. For his daughter, for his family, for the pride of the district because to eat with a victor is such an honor. He's got plenty of data he still needs to analyze by next week and he hasn't been starving for months. Quite frankly, there isn't any other point but he walks in anyway. Galaxy probably would have done the same. Or maybe not.
He spends the evening sipping cups of earl grey and nibbling on bits of stew, his spectacles on and his nose buried in documents. Patricia Valfierno must be off socializing with the brownosing mayor, the proud administrators of the College, the uptight Peacekeepers. He doesn't care, he can't care one bit. Because there is nothing he can do about it. All he can do is continue his research and find a cure. An endless roller coaster of failures and epiphanies. And there's no one to tell him to stop, that soon enough he'll get motion sickness if this continues.
Arthur clears his throat, finishes off the tea (wincing at the bits of leaf that have flown down his throat), and gets out of his seat to get another cup. But there, right there, is the victor. And he's so surprised that he's dropped his cup.
In the seconds that follow, he decides to completely ignore the loud shattering that the cup's made with the floor and after a moment's hesitation instead holds out his hand.
"Arthur Clements. Congratulations."
He means it, but the words feel just as hollow as he does.
