ticker tape // { jb | lex + sapphire }

It's funny how things turn out sometimes. And by funny, you mean ironic in the most painful way possible, because there is not a damn thing about these circumstances to laugh about.

Not that you would if you could. The flicker of mirth, the emotionless smile at the ground that had come with the of fucking course it'd be me that flashed through your mind, had sent you through the five stages of grief within seconds after you'd been pulled off the stage and away from the cameras, into a dank little room that you're sure only gets used once a year.

And why wouldn't it? No one wants anything to do with the ghosts of Reapings past.

Denial wore off by the time the Capitolite woman has raised your hand in unison with the pale-haired boy who had flung himself into the very mess you had wished all your life you would avoid. Anger erupted like a volcano and cooled off just as fast, jerking your arms out of the iron grips of the Keepers, insisting with venom on your tongue that you could walk just fine unassisted. Bargaining had emerged in the excruciatingly long minutes of solidarity before Mama and Mark had entered, the twins hot in pursuit. Depression was perhaps too strong a word for an event that had taken place not half an hour ago, but there was something unnerving, something that tore you apart within, to see the two parental figures in your life, always been so strong and unyielding, and the two youthful little rascals who had been an equal source of amusement and annoyance, all wear identical masks of agony and sorrow.

Acceptance had just started to sink in, once you'd resigned yourself that this was not a nightmare, this was reality, and you were likely weeks away from meeting a horrible, painful death when the door creaked open a second time. You glance up, a fire already building in your eyes as you plan to take in the squad of men and women in white who would no doubt be the first escort to your doom - and then the flames freeze and shatter in seconds as it is not the Keepers that stand in the doorway, but a young woman whom, under other circumstances, would have been largely unassuming.

But Lexandriy Lionel had lost all claims to anonymity when she'd been thrust into the exact same situation as I had three years prior. She crosses the room and turns to face you, and for a moment, or perhaps an eternity, there's nothing to be said. No sound except the gears of your brain working furiously, trying to figure out why this girl you've never met before in your life is standing across from you, when the silence is broken with a sigh.

"Bad luck." And if you still weren't caught in a state of half-confusion, half-irritation, you likely would have snorted, for to call being the one chosen out of thousands to be sent to your death at the last possible chance bad luck was the understatement of the century.

Not that you're any stranger to the concept, given what's been hovering over your head like a goddamned curse ever since you'd taken your first breath.

Lionel is both reserved yet intimidating at the same time, a quiet confident energy surrounding her like an old soul caught in a young body. Or perhaps it's simply her reputation preceding her - after all, it was only three years ago that you'd watched as she'd murdered a boy and a girl on subsequent days, remembered with crystal clear clarity her exploits in the arena.

And then you decide that to let yourself be intimidated is a load of bullshit, because in a few weeks' time you'll either be exactly in her shoes or dead as a doornail.

Luckily, a response from you wasn't deemed necessary. "It's up to you to turn it around," Immediately, it clicks - she's here to offer advice, perhaps a metaphorical shoulder to lean on - as perhaps the only kindred spirit you have in this world. "About 80% of Mom's advice — Mackenzie's — is good, so try not to tune him out too much."

The advice wars with the fact that this tough, badass girl apparently calls your home's junior victor Mom enough times for it to slip, but the rational part of you - the part that recognizes that this is no laughing matter, that this girl didn't deserve to go out of her way to gift you advice that was probably never given to her - wins out, and you dip your head in understanding.

For a second, you think that might be the end of that, that perhaps you should come up with a way to say thanks in a manner lacking your usual sarcastic tone, but then one more sentence leaves the other girl's lips, one that catches you off guard.

"And just in case nobody takes the time to tell you: you don't deserve this."

And you pause, you think. For that had almost been a given, something you'd repeated over and over as you'd been treated unfairly due to your father's heritage. You don't deserve this.

Perhaps it had taken a stranger to realize that that applied in cases where you were treated indiscriminately as well.

You look Lionel in the eye for the first time in a new light. But instead of gratitude, something else drops from your lips.

"Does anyone?"

There's a rasp in your voice that you attribute to the tears shed just moments before. And without a moment's hesitation you feel your cheeks burn, feel your gaze relocate from the other girl's own to somewhere around her shoelaces. Because of course you'd pick right now, when a stranger was gifting you advice, showing you pity in her own way, to turn it into a debate about philosophy.

"Sorry. Didn't - don't - mean to appear ungrateful," you say after perhaps four seconds' pause. "Just-"

The rest of the sentence doesn't reach Lionel's ears, but if anyone understands the sentiment, you suppose it would be her.

So instead you shift the subject. She gave you productivity, and you might as well respond with the same courtesy.

How'd you handle it? is almost spoken, before you answer the question yourself. There's a reason she's here, gifting words of wisdom to a total stranger. The answer? Not great.

So instead you settle on simple practicality. "What's something to always keep in mind?" you ask, gaze returning to match Lionel's own. "I mean, once I'm, you know..."

Fighting for my very life?