of lions and men — avriel + le roux's dinner [blitz]

The car smells clean, it reminds him of stepping into the District Nine apartment in the training centre for the first time. Carpet cleaner, that chemical scent, it permeates past everything else.

District One passes by so much faster in a car. Streetlamps light the interior in dull little bids of yellow that slide away again as quickly as they appear. Avriel's hands rest open in his lap, awkward silence holding his tongue until it's too late to speak.

Ridley sits across the seat from him and he is aware of her in a way that wouldn't have even come up in a larger space. It was only minutes ago that they were stood talking on the walk up to her family home. Then they'd smelled the smoke and a car was pulling up to take them somewhere else. Avriel had watched the fire smouldering behind them as they drove away, light reflecting off the tinted windows of the vehicle in a sad finality.

The lions move with a cold efficiency, the fire hardly seems to matter, the dinner will happen one way or another. There's an inevitability to it all, like the acid rain eating the statue in the games square back in Nine alive.

He bites his cheek and it's already running raw for the night. He's being dramatic, at least that's what Billie would probably tell him if she were here. It's annoying that she's not. That familiar tug of homesickness pulls at him and he balls his hand up into a fist against his thigh.

"This happen often?" he asks Ridley suddenly, breaking the silence, "Or was the fire a message for me?"

"Guess it doesn't really matter."

Avriel didn't win to become beloved or to be measured. He won because he'd wanted to go home and that same determination drives him now. The car turns up a long drive and then a large house comes into view. Light pools out onto the lawn around it, but just tungsten yellow.

No fires here.

There's a woman stood outside and she turns to watch as the car stops. Avriel sits there for a moment, hand on the door handle. He recognizes her from this morning, the mayor, Eurydice Le Roux herself. He'd known her almost right away because she held herself in that same confident way that Emerson had.

"You don't have to do this, Avriel," Anita's voice echoes, "We can still go back."

But it's too late for that. He pushes the door open and steps out of the car. The night is already getting colder around them, winter holds them in the dark but the sky above is clear and full of stars. Maybe that's the one benefit to the cold.

"Avriel."

Something in the way she says his name throws his guard up. Eurydice offers him her hand and Avriel takes it, eyes on hers. "Eurydice," he greets her back and then lets go of her hand again. She claims the fire was a greeting and he considers getting back into the car and letting it take him back to the train.

Maybe he would've without Ridley here to support him.

"It's no problem," Avriel answers and falls in beside Ridley as a silent gesture, "Hope your house is okay though." Eurydice looks largely unbothered by all of it, which is mystifying to Avriel. Rich people don't seem to worry about anything.

Still, this is the mother whose nephew and daughter he survived. He knows not to drop his guard.

The matriarch reaches out and Avriel stills, gaze flicking to her hand and then back to her face but she's difficult to read. His body reacts first, tensing slightly and then leaning closer to Ridley to pull away from Eurydice but her hand is already dropping in the next moment.

Avriel lets out a breath and follows her. His hands shake so he slips them into the skirt's pockets because then maybe no one will notice the fact that he's terrified. This is already so different from meeting any other tribute's family. The power of the Le Roux' is displayed in every step Eurydice takes ahead of him.

"Thank-you," Avriel says, trying to recall everything Gloria'd told him to say and failing so settling on, "And for having me, it's an honour."

"So you do this every year?" he asks, "Or is this a special occasion."

Would he even be here if there'd been no Le Roux in the 88th?

There seems to be an endless stream of Le Roux', Avriel doesn't know what to do with them all, where to even look. Does Panem even know about this? No wonder they've had five tributes in the last decade, they just keep coming. Avriel didn't understand the enormity of the family before this, he's never had anything to compare it too. Nine has the Adroxis family, but the lions outnumber them easily.

And he's never had dinner with the Adroxis', not yet.

He finds himself staying closer to Ridley as more lions appear, offering brief hello's to those that greet him, and handshakes all around. He shakes so many hands that he loses track and it's getting confusing, hard to remember who is who. With shades of blonde hair and blue eyes, they all look nearly the same. A servant offers him a tray of little sausages and Avriel takes one but then he's already being swept along to the dining hall.

To a large table, set with rows of plates.

Even as Ridley pauses, he cups her elbow gently, eyes on the set up. Seems almost purposeful.

He watches her carefully, tuning out the other Le Roux' chatter, heels dug into the carpet, ready to turn on a dime. If Ridley leaves, he's going to have to leave too, there's no way he can do this without her.

Then she's back, charming smile even though Avriel can feel the shift in her, she doesn't feel like smiling. He understands now why Julian's smile never quite reached his eyes.

He sits and Ridley thankfully takes the seat beside him before anyone else can.

"No," he says, "Seems that all people want to do when you're a victor is open old wounds." Then he runs his hand briefly along the edge of the table cloth. It feels like pure silk.

"I guess that's the prize though, isn't it?"

Silk tablecloth. Hadn't one of the dead Le Roux been named Silk?

The chair scrapes beside him and the Le Roux on his left is dumped on the floor. The sudden movement makes Avriel tense, some part of him was waiting for an attack. It'd make sense for the lions to lure him in just to tear him apart in the privacy of their own home.

Each lion is louder than the last though, all leader of the pack in their own heads. Avriel's known them for all of ten minutes and he already knows that there's no way they could work together long enough to hurt him.

"So this is the famous Avriel Baptiste."
"Yeah and who are you?"

A hand on his arm, he furrows his brow in annoyance but he's been poked and prodded enough in the last six months that it doesn't bother him all that much. It's just odd that a family so focused on decorum would have someone who so easily breaks basic boundaries.

"I thought you were going to be bigger."

A hand on his chin, Avriel's mind goes blank as he's being forced to turn. A smaller hand over his, forcing a blade into her heart. The scent of iron, his breathing speeds up. No one will ever control him like that again. His hand curls into a fist on the table, wrapping around the nearest weapon at his disposal. All that's there is a little rounded knife used for scraping butter on bread, not even sharp. Doesn't matter. He raises it quickly, flips it in his hand and holds it against the boy's throat so tight that it cuts a soft pink indent into his skin.

"And I thought you lot were gonna be more polite," he says, tone flat.