needle and syringe // Xaa&Will

History of the Games was just another class at school that was an excuse to ignore and ditch, in Will’s opinion. Who gave a shit that Hardin made the top five in the 89th? Kid still died!

They’d been fed, bathed, and plied with clothing, alcohol, and other substances that Will had no idea what to say yes to and what to object to and everything had culminated in the first day at the Training Center. The grunts and smell of sweat were nearly enough to make her vomit, but Will knew she had to play nice with the others if she had any hope of….what? Being stupid enough to delude herself into thinking she would go home and everything would work out?

Fuck that. But she definitely didn’t want to be the first to die. That would be like…so embarrassing.

Will sees the girl from One before she slides next to her as if her place was always at Will’s side. She exudes something.

Wealth and opulence, of course, because she’s from the golden district, and even Will knew enough about the family cabals in One that this girl was definitely from one of them.

But there’s something that is washing off of her and it isn’t until the girl is closer that she sees that she’s definitely in need of something to take the edge off. She wears her withdrawal like a heavy crown - sweat at her temples and dark circles under her eyes don’t take away from her beauty, but she’s lethal. Like a wounded animal.

A hot wounded animal, but Will was only human. And she isn’t sure if she should run or willingly stick her head inside the lion’s mouth.

“All this must be intoxicating for you, my dear. Care to bargain with a devil?”

“I think you might have a better idea of intoxicants than I do,” Will replies dryly, grabbing the top of her foot to bring to her butt to make it look like she was actually doing something with her time. The Trainers had been eyeing her for the last twenty minutes while she “stretched.”

“A bargain, my lucky day. What’s in it for me, One?”

Will would laugh at the pompous air that curls around the girl like smoke if she knew that she would probably immediately get claws raking down her face. There had to be a rule about that, right? No attacking each other…yet.

Maybe One was too strung out to even lift an arm. As it is, she seems to enjoy hearing the sound of her voice so perhaps her words are her weapons and her weak ass arms can’t do anything more than lift a shopping bag.

”I dabble here and there,” she says and Will can nearly hear the familiarity in her voice. It had to have been coke, she thinks. Or maybe a cocktail of that an E with a side of molly and PCP. The rich always loved their cocktails.

One talks as if she’s used to getting her way, her silver tongue curling around golden teeth and Will is well and truly intrigued. She can't not be. No one has talked to her in days, apart from Thomas. 

“Well my dear, life is so fragile, so easy to take. Don’t you agree? There are different ways to attack. Personally, I have always been inclined to fear-mongering. However, a girl with my manicure does not get her hands dirty.”

She walks like a predator, talks like a predator, and even has the nails to match. Will raises an eyebrow but she can’t even walk away if she wanted to. Self-preservation was never one of her strong suits. 

"I can promise that you will become a shark amongst these fish as long as you play the part in the theatrics.”

“So, it’s all an act, then. I play the poor yokel that’s under your spell and you guarantee me, what? Hours or days more than I have if I go it alone? Are mommy and daddy greasing any of the sponsor’s hands or are you flying free from the nest?” She seems the type to have a perfectly dysfunctional family, so the stab in the dark is worth it.

“I would rather you look me in the eyes before you stab me in the back, darling.”

"I know better than to ask a girl like you to play stupid. All the accusations you are making, you know how to read a person. I admire that."

One really knew how to talk, words wielded like weapons to make people do her bidding. It was obvious that she didn't really want to be here and viewed the Games as just a needless distraction to the really important things in life. Like drugs and sex, probably. Or whatever the fuck rich people in One did. Murder babies, probably.

"Flattery, I love it," Will says with a smile, arms crossed over her chest.

"I honestly do not know how long you will live. However, I am in the business of a good time, and wouldn’t it be just grand to spend the rest of your life living a little? I cannot imagine there is much of that in District Twelve." The bitch isn't wrong, but her words land like a thud in Will's chest. Twelve's idea of fun was bonfires, drinking shitty alcohol, and rampant drug use. Will was never really a "joiner," so the late nights and stories that spread through school like wildfire in the aftermath barely made a blip on her radar.

"Oh, and just one bit of information I am willing to share, my dear. I don’t stab people. I poison them."

"I'll be sure to never accept a drink from you then, either here or in the Arena." A tentative yes, but surely not what One was looking for. She pauses, weighing her next words carefully because...what other choice did she have? Die alone or die with someone else by her side?

She knew the answer the moment she started talking to One. She was always such a fucking sucker.

"If you scratch my back, I'll kiss your ass. You can call me Will."