IYKYK [ cordelia x lux ]

Lux wasn’t impressed, but honestly, things rarely rose to the level in which they could impress her now. She’d already been to the Capitol. So, if they were hoping for a wide-eyed, jaw dropping moment of awe when she stepped off the train - they weren’t gonna fucking get it.

And why the hell wasn’t Vanya around to greet her?

Her fellow tribute reeks of days old vodka, stinking up the train car (thank god it’s a short trip from Two) and the elevator as they make their way to their rooms following the tour of the Training Center. Lux says nothing as she claims the room closest to the door (an easier escape, duh! Plus, like, operational security which they had been taught since before they could crawl) and slips from the apartment down into the Training Center.

No one was stupid enough to be training yet. That kind of move would put a target on your back in seconds. Unless that’s what she wanted. She hadn’t had enough time to even decide on a strategy on the way here. There were too many unknowns - most of all her fellow tributes.

Because Love had one from the moment he’d set foot in the Capitol and Lux wasn’t gonna look like the fuck up Bellisario. Love had already taken that title when he hadn’t come home and he could fucking keep it.

Announcing herself as a threat could mean a lot of things - it could mean allies or it could mean enemies. Notoriety and all that.

The Avoxes and trainers watch her silently as she walks from station to station, running her hands over the blades and maces. She winks at one of them - a trainer, probably, standing on one of the sparring mats - who crosses his arms over his chest.

This was a waste of time.

That stupid ass meeting with Zeus in the Justice Building had been an absolute waste of her time, too. The over-coiffed fucking peacock stuck into a three piece suit had to have been seriously fucking with her if he thought she’d believe him about the Reaping. Like hell the Capitol would go to all the trouble.

But if they had…someone really must have wanted her dead. Either that or they wanted the publicity. It was probably both.

Fuck it, she was already famous. If not for her name then for her face and for the fact that of all Panem had seen her bare-chested and butt naked more times than she could count. Ah, memories.

Speaking of fame…

Lux turns from where she had been admiring the throwing knives, missing the familiar kiss of steel against her ribcage, her back to the door (mistake number one, sis, Love would always say) as she sees Cordelia Bardot wander in looking like she was ten seconds away from whipping out her phone and recording one of her famous viral videos.

Delia doesn’t spot her as her eyes move over the room, so Lux approaches, fitting a bored look on her face as she glances at her nails.

“Pulled your head out of your ass long enough to get reaped, Delia?”

"Could say the same for you, Lux... It is Lux, right?" What a fucking bitch. She knew Lux’s name.

"Finally decided to put your hands to better use, ay?"

“When the choices are fuck or fight, it’s always a toss up,” Lux shrugs, stepping into Cordelia’s space. It’s an invasion, a simple nudge at her defenses. It’s also something else, but Lux ignores that.

She smells like flowers, Lux realizes with startling clarity, inhaling deeply.

“Has One finally decided that the Le Roux parade of failures made for terrible tv when everyone knew the inevitable outcome?” Lux’s eyes trail over Cordelia’s face, down the column of her neck and collarbones, lingering before moving on. She’s lowered her voice enough that it could only be her and Delia in the room, which would definitely make for some fantastic television.

Lux doesn’t ask Cordelia about her rumored fling with Emerson. Doesn’t ask her if Emerson kissed like she fought. Why waste her breath on a dead girl when she could almost feel Cordelia’s heartbeat?

Cordelia blushes. It’s just for a moment and it’s gone in a flash, but it was there in color and written across her stupidly symmetrical face.

Lux knows the moment that Cordelia mentions Love that she’s supposed to react, break down, snarl in disgust and give her exactly what she wants—a reaction. But that was the thing about influencers and egomaniacs—they always wanted something. Lux was nothing more than a hollow girl, encrusted in diamonds to reflect whatever the beholder saw.

And Lux wasn’t feeling like she was in a particularly giving mood, despite the way that her body warmed in Delia’s proximity.

"Hey, my eyes are up here Bellisario—"

”So, you do know my name—” Lux interjects quickly, savoring the small victory.

"Any dead career makes for bad TV. But you would know about that, wouldn't you?" Poor Love and poor Lux and poor Bellisario family. Wah. But it was clear the narrative had worked, Lux thinks, eyebrows raising before she opens her mouth to speak.

“He started to care, which lead to his downfall,” she replies, a sigh in her voice. The lie that she had been telling herself for three years almost feels true. Almost.

She reaches out and tucks a stray bang of Cordelia’s hair behind her ear as the girl continues. The light was hitting her hair perfectly, which was annoying. But of course, the Capitol would shell out for that. Lux wonders fleetingly if the mics were picking up their conversation at all.

"You know you won't find any roses here. No one's gonna be trading kisses for another night in the game. You know, just a little word of advice, seeing as you might be a little out of practice." She took the easy way out and Lux does want to sigh at that, disappointed but not surprised.

“It almost sounds as if you’re offering, Delia.” Lux dangles the implicit suggestion in the air, matching Cordelia’s smirk and ignoring the way it made her face light up before her eyes drag across Lux’s body. She feels herself exhale unconsciously under the observation that nearly felt like a caress.

Lux can see it—the moment Cordelia knows that she’s slipped, missed a rung of the ladder in this ever-upwards moving game. It’s just a flicker, a shimmer. A crack in the mask that they were both wearing even if it suffocated them. Because Lux’s mask has been made, diamond by bloody diamond, in the years that she was formed and appraised. It was like a second skin, one that she couldn’t shed lest the armor on the outside gave way to her soft underbelly, baring it all for the world.

She may have no problem with getting naked and letting Panem see all of her assets, but there was no chance in hell that Lux would let the mask slip, let herself stumble while she was here. Love had made that mistake before—had become a shell of himself during the games. It was foolish and it was fearless and she envied him for it. But she wouldn’t make the same mistake.

Every action had an equal and opposite reaction and she was sure as shit not going to let Cordelia Bardot dictate the terms of their interactions. She sidesteps Lux’s offer, deflecting Lux’s touch as if she was deflecting a blow with the outside of her arm, stepping closer to Lux, years of training now innate in her graceful movements.

They could—they were—sharing the same breath and Lux delights in how she has to glance upwards at Cordelia, just a bit. Delights in how she can hear the nearly imperceptible shake in Cordelia’s breath as she whispers, “In your dreams, Lux,". She reaches a hand up, not to caress Lux’s cheek, no. That would be too much of a telegraphed move, but she picks some lint off of Lux’s shirt before flicking it to the side

“And only in your dreams," she adds, in a way that Lux knows that she’s praying she’s serious. Follow-through was always one of Lux’s weaknesses. Perhaps it was Delia’s too.

“That’s a pity, Delia. Delux would have made such a fantastic hashtag,” Lux jokes, her right hand moving up Cordelia’s hip, fingertips tracing over her ribcage.