evil eye ⁂ tati&tommy

That was pretty embarrassing. Like, more embarrassing than the shift of our industry. The band went from a finalist act to not even qualifying. Maybe they just thought we didn’t deserve another chance. That’s what I told the gang as we started packing up our shit. "We already had our chance; they just didn't want us to win this time..." as if it made the thought of losing any better. We all knew this was the last time a "band" would ever happen. Now that we lost, we're all gonna go back to the districts and never talk again. Not that I mind. The drummer brought too much negative energy from time to time, and the lead vocalist was way too snobby. I'm sure the Panem Times would love a story like that.

I took the first train home that I could. Didn't feel like experiencing the Capitol - not with those people, at least. I had to get home and get back to work on stuff for the house. The two small cases I brought had hardly been touched, making the packing easier. A brief goodbye was given to the crew, but nothing was tugging at my heart to give any personal messages. The train ride home was different from last time, too. Not just because of the embarrassment of being on it so soon, but also because the train was so empty. Last time, there were flourishes of people. Couples making a trip to buy esteemed jewels. Young men and women riding to their first day of Peacekeeper training. Their voices filled the cart with a soft murmer. People were excited to go to such a prestigious district.

It's empty now, except for the low-class Capitol citizens who found more promise in the waste processing plants of Two than the streets. The only sense that fills the room is the faint odor of a missing shower and the light hum of a moving train. The occasional jostle of metal as a light bump was hit. A wavering back and forth, as if it were a cruise ship, traveling down the line.

My shuffle off of the train turned into a sprint. I was lucky the amount of baggage I had took only my back and two fists. The chances that those boys down the streets were out is high. I didn't want to risk getting caught - lord knows what they'd do to me after such a failure. The doorstep was met with the slam of my cases as I equally slammed the doorbell. One,two,three- a yell was heard from inside the home. Nothing. Come on. Those boys can smell me. I just know it. Four,five doorbells later the same voice rings out. Footsteps come from inside. Or I hope inside.

It may be an overreaction, but teenage boys scare me. It's like they feed off of your fear. Like those animals that can sense your worry. The drip of anxiety sweat is like blood for sharks. And I can't swim, so the idea of sharks sound less exciting by the minute.

Ring.

Hurry up already.

Ring. Ring.

Whoever's walking needs to up the pace.

Ring.Ring.RingRingRinRi

Each ring goes at an increasing speed, where only the first initial note chime is all one can hear until-

"Oh, it's you," Tatiana Harvard opens the door. Her voice shares the same excitement that I have for being home. "Home already? What'd you do, barf on stage?" An embarrassed laugh escapes my throat as I look behind her. Good, nobody that I actually care about. "Honestly, would have preferred that." I pick up my bags to move inside, a light shove of Tatiana to ensure I'm inside. "I forgot how much of a bitch our lead vocalist was." Beat. A dam breaks, and I spill. "I mean - if you're so insistent about your voice alone, how come you're the one that got us three red buzzers the moment it was just you singing alone?" I wave my hands up in disbelief. "It is not that hard to hold a note for three seconds. She has the lung capacity to with how much she talks." Frustration rings within my voice, and for not caring, it sure as hell seems like I do.